The disengagement of the bubbleâ??s hypnotizing
Some say below the doughy crust the beast is rising
We like to talk about the past
We like to talk about the past
We talk about the past like itâ??s the strangest dream
We repeat the thing we never dreamed weâ??d do
I understand that sometimes we all must dance with fuckery
But everybodyâ??s pissing in the well of our suffering
I want to breathe in all the ashes of the books they tried to burn
I want to feel the pages in my skin and understand the words
Castrate fiction, call it circumstance
They say her wanderings are dangerous
All she wants to do is dance
Dance
Question periodâ??s over, donâ??t you feel it, I do
Youâ??ll be pummeled by the certainty of minions
Itâ??s a puppet show, a theatre of opinions
A Chorus of flack
Feeder of the pack
You can hear the shaky timbre of the voices most alone
Yeah itâ??s easier to sing within the crowd
Those who pretend to believe hardest might actually begin to
The nature of the bliss the warmth of ignorance gives into
I want to breathe in all the ashes of the books they tried to burn
I want to taste resilience on my tongue and love beyond concern
Mass-grave subtlety, leave it for the birds
They say the world it might be dangerous
But all it seems to do is turn
Bitten by the hand that feeds you
Holding to what youâ??re beholden to
(Question periodâ??s over, donâ??t you feel it? I do)
Bitten by the hand that feeds you
(Question periodâ??s over, donâ??t you feel it? I do)
Holding to what youâ??re beholden to