Tradition

I look into the mirror on the wall
Somehow I can't help but feel so small
The world seems nothing more than a reflection
It stares back at me in deception

The flowers are already dry
Until I've finally made up my mind
I told him not to touch them, he asks why
What's left untouched may live to thrive

Father, tell me, are you the one to save me
You look down on me, when you're the one to sin
Pledge to be the saviour, just another word for labour
You silence our voice, and then pretend to give a choice

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe
Choose your flower of poison
Pick and swallow, or be devoured
Harvest time has just begun

I walk into the street of every chapter
Where nothing seems to ever really matter
We walk amongst the faceless monsters
Is this the real world or just a fable

The higher power is just another weapon
Using the force of brute manipulation
For what we carry shall be their decision
Called 'the silenced' going by tradition

Father, tell me, are you the one to save me
You look down on me, when you're the one to sin
Pledge to be the saviour, just another word for labour
You silence our voice, and then pretend to give a choice