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Mutilated images

It looks the same, feels the same

Pointing at you again

Can't help myself asking you how?

Where is our path?

It's not a phase

It will come back again

As soon as you forget

What is your excuse?

The mind is a lack of existence

In time we'll heal all open wounds

Still we'll remain the puppeteers

Open up the doors, lock them up behind us

Blended by the winter light as the worlds collide

We'll feed the storm again

Beauty stole my sight

We'll fall into the same

Cycling game again

It's not a phase

Bring this world to an end

As the fractures strife your eye

We enjoy our masquerade

Through the days of convicted grief

The action slowly fades

As the countdown reach the end

And shimmering light starts to burn

We still remain the puppeteers

It's too late to make a turn

we'll feed the storm again

Beauty stole my sight

We'll fall into the same

Cycling game again

It's not a phase

Bring this world to an end