Текст песни
It's the
Schism of the century
It's the
Season of plenty
It's the
Seven of pentacles
It's the
Reading of the chronicles
It's the
Schism of the century
It's the
Season of plenty
It's the
Seven of pentacles
It's the
Reading of the chronicles
When mastery makes mischief
When darkness makes the light
When you sleep during wickedness
And peacefully start a fight
When the world is turning
And yet its standing still
You know its coming
And your dreading the thrill
You make yourself an entry
With a cursor that blinks in red
And the moment that you leave
You feel like your dead
But amongst the feeling you regret
Is a shadow on the wall
And fires that burn behind you
And the wind from a squall
It's the present of nothing
It's the past ahead of you
It's the future behind me
And I'm coming unglued
When the floor is the ceiling
And the ceilings on the wall
Then we all look confused
When there's nothing at all
There's nothing at all
There's nothing at all
There's nothing at all
There's nothing at all
When the natural is poison
And the fate lies in few
And the rest are drinking
The thing they just spewed
When you see the machine
And its acidic with stains
And the whole world sees it
But they just cant stop the fame
And the fame is always hungry
The contents in a prism
But the old stuff is left rotten
For an ancient algorithm
And they'd tell you how it works
If you could only understand them
But the four people who built it