Somewhere a Clock Is Ticking

Somewhere a Clock Is Ticking

They slit our throats like flowers,
As we parade into this tomb,
A gentle pain of knowing,
That this birth will be our doom,

Our mouths stuck with glue,
Our heads filled with lies,
Our hearts tattered nothings,
As we watch society rise,

This God is our media,
Worshipped by all,
Seeking our attention,
And laughing as we fall,

The cracks in our hearts,
As we march into death,
Unwoken spirits lay,
In the shallows of our breath.