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Description
What is life without the lie in it? Without the lie with it?
It always forms loosely knit masterpieces.
They depict the lions pit, getting thrown in it.
The lies and the games and the superficial fame
that we have yet to understand.

What is this "plan"?
What are the rules for this messed up clan of disappointments and rearrangements
and false victories and forgotten histories and drawn out mysteries
of love and passion and friendship?

When will the word friend be spelled without end?
There's a scary trend in that, a breaking bend in fact.
It's caused by mixed thoughts--artifacts--
and fixed voices and peer pressured choices
and all the while some get forced to feel what they don't want to feel.

They join the wrong "crowd".
But what even is a crowd?
The group that speaks to you loud enough
and makes you proud enough
to actually feel like you fit in somewhere?
The club that makes you feel tough enough
and rubs your edges rough
and gives you a false sense of love?
The crew that shares personal stuff
to break down the cuffs
shackled around the pathetic snippets and puffs of your heart
that have been spat out and left behind by your previous "friends",
tainting your future with the pollution of past regrets?
No, I don't think so.

Because everyone knows
that you can't spell enemy without 'me'.
And you can't define a person based on what you see.
You can block your own thoughts and you can shape your own words
and you can meet other people, for better or worse.
You can control this life and this messed up script
made by fate's oxymoronic playwright.
You can make up the rules so that you can stand tall and straight;
don't crack or break,
or at least show it.
Even though you know you're on the edge of humanity
and creation just doesn't interest you anymore.
All because of a little "fun"
pushed to the side of life's road
by a group of friends.

Description
What is life without the lie in it? Without the lie with it?
It always forms loosely knit masterpieces.
They depict the lions pit, getting thrown in it.
The lies and the games and the superficial fame
that we have yet to understand.

What is this "plan"?
What are the rules for this messed up clan of disappointments and rearrangements
and false victories and forgotten histories and drawn out mysteries
of love and passion and friendship?

When will the word friend be spelled without end?
There's a scary trend in that, a breaking bend in fact.
It's caused by mixed thoughts--artifacts--
and fixed voices and peer pressured choices
and all the while some get forced to feel what they don't want to feel.

They join the wrong "crowd".
But what even is a crowd?
The group that speaks to you loud enough
and makes you proud enough
to actually feel like you fit in somewhere?
The club that makes you feel tough enough
and rubs your edges rough
and gives you a false sense of love?
The crew that shares personal stuff
to break down the cuffs
shackled around the pathetic snippets and puffs of your heart
that have been spat out and left behind by your previous "friends",
tainting your future with the pollution of past regrets?
No, I don't think so.

Because everyone knows
that you can't spell enemy without 'me'.
And you can't define a person based on what you see.
You can block your own thoughts and you can shape your own words
and you can meet other people, for better or worse.
You can control this life and this messed up script
made by fate's oxymoronic playwright.
You can make up the rules so that you can stand tall and straight;
don't crack or break,
or at least show it.
Even though you know you're on the edge of humanity
and creation just doesn't interest you anymore.
All because of a little "fun"
pushed to the side of life's road
by a group of friends.