Compared to the past we are losing the war. The battleís become a bore. Iím not sure what it was that lead us to letting ourselves go. Itís thirteen to nothing but whoís keeping score. Apparently thatís a chore. Maybe we let it go. To redo the wrongs that weíve done so right.
Iím not sure what it was, but the passion is gone from our eyes. Iím holding the key but canít open the door. You donít answer anymore. They keyís just an empty space inside of an empty mind.
All of our lives, we believe the notion that we were right. Driven like fiends to thoughtless devotion. Fear is our best friend.
The tug of the strings that are pulled by the puppeteers on everyone. Disguising the fact the sick rich feast for them has just begun. Itís obvious weíve been deceived weíre just holding out for the smokin gun. But itís nowhere to be found.
All of our lives, we believe the notion that we were right. Driven like fiends to thoughtless devotion. Fear is our best friend. Itíll scare us off in the end.
The sad truth is. That weíre all running scared, completely unaware. We havenít even fought the war. An excuse to divide us and conquer. Itís time we cut the puppet strings, live our lives for ourselves not be afraid of things. Canít we just be.
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