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Voices From The Fuselage
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Epicinium
hell is hanging from the rafters.
a society that just won't keep.
but we continue like pastors,
the faith of which, we take a leap.
i'm screaming on the inside,
my exterior is wearing thin.
this force will stop at nothing,
until dust has become of skin.
you want a culprit, i can slip you a name.
it's decorated with devotion and fame.
so this is how we win,
for every redemption that follows a cold blooded slaughter
we're obsessed with the end of days,
and it's many potential ways.
and yet here we stay…
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the many corners we have turned,
so many bridges we have burned,
when will we learn?
play the martyr for the fool,
there's no exclusionary rule.
yet they play it cool.
i doubt the fire ever quells
it just waxes and it swells
until we see the likes of hell.
you want a culprit, i can slip you a name.
it's decorated with devotion and fame.
so this is how we win,
for every redemption that follows a cold blooded slaughter
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