The Program

We burn. Start over.
Ashes to this soil that we fertilize
We grow up form grace from rehearsals from a played out fall down.

With this match I'll let myself on fire the same way, every day's routine.
Like a drug to me can I possibly turn around now? This is the fallacy
I've been raised on: if I pray to god will I right my wrongs?
Cuz it seems I'm left here with these empty palms

Nevertheless I die the same, way

I can't pretend like it was ever good enough for me.

These flames bring pain. They don't get easier to bare or take with each day.
I only gain more suffering and devastated dreams, there are no angels here to save me.
If I believe in you will you grow wings and help me fly away?

Your eyes, why can't I look away.
I put my faith in your eyes.
And the faith dies.