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Insurgent Few
If you'd put your ear to the ground, the world is sighing
Every breath is laboured and oh so loud
I've become immune to the sound of the masses crying,
With prophetic illusion I face the crowd
I've forgotten my place in the game, how it feels to live life so confined
Whisper softly to fuel the decay of the violence in your vernal, plastic minds
Wash my hands of the burdens of fame and the healing lease on life you crave
And while you fall farther behind
I'll sell my cane to fictile breeds of adherents
Fertile fields of jaded souls and malcontents
A want-not, taste-not, feel-not, fear-not ignorance to
To the insurgent few
I can feed you relief from the days when the real alights upon your smile
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A mellisonant escape from the pain of the silence, the essence of denial
Close your eyes, let it all slip away, as the feel of peace flows through your veins
And rest your weary souls a while
Sell my cane to fictile breeds of adherents
Fertile fields of jaded souls and malcontents
A want-not, taste-not, feel-not, fear-not ignorance to
To the insurgent few
I'll sell my cane to fictile breeds of adherents
Fertile fields of jaded souls and malcontents
A want-not, taste-not, feel-not, fear-not ignorance to
To the insurgent few
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