Squashing insects beneath our fingers
No consideration for such little lives...

The air in here is strange
I’ll admit I am afraid...

There’s dead men in the reservoir
In the water that we drink...

He never thought he mattered
It’s hard to when on your own...

Her days have been many
But somehow short...

Two souls inside a picture frame
Nothing changes, always stays the same...

Are you happy
Does it make you smile...

I will never walk like you
I don’t need any forgiveness...

O’er the garden wall
Too nimble to fall...

In the way I find this night
Solitary, calm and lone...

They have me tied to their chair
For their Masochistic Traits...

I have spent too much of myself
Lamenting the passing of angels...