Projected Personal Paradox
You see what I've become now? Ugliness only to parallel who I am inside. Burn my face to show the scars on my soul.
You stupid whore.
You mindless joke.
Crying likewise I'm screaming and bleeding for the truth to smack me in the face. Could I disappear without a trace?
And open these wounds so the blood of the world spills over us. I am the child of Saint Damien.
A martyr for the ill
Addicted to the thrill of a life led teetering on the balance of extreme and evil. Upheaval remedied only by the promise of another life. All I have is a halfhearted claim to salvation and the clothes on my back. Rip away these clothes and you see
My only outside truth
The punishment I endure. There must be much more to feel than wings ripping through my back. Unfolding and twitching to the song of the lost.
Hello, I am your creation. The epitome of imperfection. You fed me the lies until they grew into my skin and destroyed all sanity within.
Now point your finger
Oh shallow believer
At the mind of a genius polluted by madness. I'm something you hide behind with your false pretenses. Carry you up the mountain of life's churning turmoil. My hands are raw and bleeding. My eyes are so misleading. You search for a lie within them, like looking glasses to see the soul. There's nothing there. Yet you remain whole.
Oh sun, rise to meet me.
Teach me how to see your light.
And I'll try again to wipe the blood from these golden wings. But already you are sinking, falling away from me into a sea of black. So many days have passed, and nothing can be seen of the other me. You notice my change. Blame it on me again as I am backed down. And you wonder why I rebel. I'm only lighting the fires in hell. It is the only way
I stay true to myself
Never put this on a shelf
I do not speak hypocritically.
I do not contradict myself
except to provide you with a projected personal paradox which strips away your crown, replaces my crown of thorns, and defaces the image of this Earthly dictatorship. Even Jesus cried out on the cross. And I do the same.
Unwilling to fall without a fight
Fall out of sight
And fly over to the darker side of the moon. I worship it as my God. Simply because I know what it is. I see the moon on silent nights, when I can come out from my hiding place. If the sun has deserted me, I'll hide from the light, and wear the burns on my face.
Why is it my nature to be angry at what I can't control? And to write the things that don't make sense but express the world as a whole.
I am Paradox, one of many. Look closer and you'll see, that in that rage where confusion swirls, I am a blank page and everything in between.
And it all makes sense to me.
It is all the same to be.
Why can't you see the lines that swerve fall perfectly into place. Look quickly before they curl around my fingertips again. I am the master now, claiming your crown. You are a puppet nailed to a tree. You are you and I am me. But it is all the same to be.
All the same to me.
It all makes sense to me.
You stupid whore.
You mindless joke.
Crying likewise I'm screaming and bleeding for the truth to smack me in the face. Could I disappear without a trace?
And open these wounds so the blood of the world spills over us. I am the child of Saint Damien.
A martyr for the ill
Addicted to the thrill of a life led teetering on the balance of extreme and evil. Upheaval remedied only by the promise of another life. All I have is a halfhearted claim to salvation and the clothes on my back. Rip away these clothes and you see
My only outside truth
The punishment I endure. There must be much more to feel than wings ripping through my back. Unfolding and twitching to the song of the lost.
Hello, I am your creation. The epitome of imperfection. You fed me the lies until they grew into my skin and destroyed all sanity within.
Now point your finger
Oh shallow believer
At the mind of a genius polluted by madness. I'm something you hide behind with your false pretenses. Carry you up the mountain of life's churning turmoil. My hands are raw and bleeding. My eyes are so misleading. You search for a lie within them, like looking glasses to see the soul. There's nothing there. Yet you remain whole.
Oh sun, rise to meet me.
Teach me how to see your light.
And I'll try again to wipe the blood from these golden wings. But already you are sinking, falling away from me into a sea of black. So many days have passed, and nothing can be seen of the other me. You notice my change. Blame it on me again as I am backed down. And you wonder why I rebel. I'm only lighting the fires in hell. It is the only way
I stay true to myself
Never put this on a shelf
I do not speak hypocritically.
I do not contradict myself
except to provide you with a projected personal paradox which strips away your crown, replaces my crown of thorns, and defaces the image of this Earthly dictatorship. Even Jesus cried out on the cross. And I do the same.
Unwilling to fall without a fight
Fall out of sight
And fly over to the darker side of the moon. I worship it as my God. Simply because I know what it is. I see the moon on silent nights, when I can come out from my hiding place. If the sun has deserted me, I'll hide from the light, and wear the burns on my face.
Why is it my nature to be angry at what I can't control? And to write the things that don't make sense but express the world as a whole.
I am Paradox, one of many. Look closer and you'll see, that in that rage where confusion swirls, I am a blank page and everything in between.
And it all makes sense to me.
It is all the same to be.
Why can't you see the lines that swerve fall perfectly into place. Look quickly before they curl around my fingertips again. I am the master now, claiming your crown. You are a puppet nailed to a tree. You are you and I am me. But it is all the same to be.
All the same to me.
It all makes sense to me.