it infiltrates,
  insidious,
  it feigns at love,
  betrays our trust
  in what we've known,
  since we were born.
  the truth we've found in all we see
    points to design,
  still our chests swell,
  we'll never find
  true answers from a wishing well.
    so feed us all
  another lie,
  to still our thoughts,
  appease our pride,
  so we wont have
  to chance the way we see, we live, we love, we die,
    our lust precedes
  our blasphemy,
  our logic reads
  like notes from tainted autopsy.
    our souls they speak of something more,
  but we cant look beyond ourselves.
  we implore empty skies because
  our heats hold room for no one else,
    we extend our
  claws to grasp at shadows of the
  ideals we have,
  lost causalities of a subtle dagger,
  buried to the
  hilt in our hearts, blood on our hands.