Place your palette on your passiveness
What do you ask of this
Your apathetic portraits of your lavishness
Havoc gets the upper hand tainted
By the savages
Passion of disaster is habits
Turned to sacrilege

Your abandonments cannot be covered up
Little clues you leave behind you
Think they're subtle
But it's enough for the colors to be skewed
It's only so plain to see
The reflections in your hue

I see through I see your true colors
The irony you stand for you not being you
Taken in by this illusion of mistaken friends
And breaking ends to make new

Inside it's a bitter sweet symphony
Underneath the bridge of broken symmetry
Where it hides all distractions have quieted
And eyes get wide to the truth
You hide it visibly
Could it be it's just your misery?
Killing these selfish dreams
Without a drop of sympathy
Or your empathy
It's just an artificial memory