Wings Denied
the machinist
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Pregnant with remorse
Packaged in a line
Bruised souls and broken bodies left us in the desert's darkness
Burning under faithful watch of a scorching sun
We have fallen out of grace
Pregnant with remorse
Packaged in a line
Bruised souls and broken bodies left us consumed and desensitized
Over stimulated to perfection
We have fallen out of grace
I've been everything that you don't want me to be
I've seen everything that you don't want me to see
The needle of perfection
Thrust through the apple of my eye
I can sense the footsteps of the marching armies
Cloned drones dancing to commands