Mouthpiece

The disengagement

Of the bubble is hypnotizing

Some say below the doughy crust

The beast is rising

We like to talk about the past

We like to talk about the past

Well, we talk about the past

Like it’s the strangest dream

Then we repeat the things

We never dreamed we’d do

I understand that sometimes

We all must dance with fuckery,

But everybody’s pissing in

The well of our suffering

I want to breathe in all the ashes

Of the books they tried to burn

I want to feel the pages in my skin

And understand the words

Castrate fiction, call it circumstance

They say her wanderings are dangerous

All she wants to do is dance

Is dance

Question period’s over.

Don’t you feel it? I do.

You’ll be pummeled by

The certainty of minions

It’s a puppet show,

A theatre of opinions

A chorus of flack

Feeder of the pack

You can hear the shaky timbre

Of the voices most alone

Yeah, it’s easier to sing within the crowd

Those who pretend to believe hardest

Might actually begin to,

The nature of the bliss the warmth

Of ignorance gives into

I want to breathe in all the ashes

Of the books they tried to burn

I want to taste resilience on my tongue

And love beyond concern

Mass-grave subtlety, leave it for the birds

They say the world, it might be dangerous,

But all it seems to do is turn

(Bitten by the hand that feeds you)

Question period’s over.

(Holding to what you’re beholden to)

Don’t you feel it? I do.

Question period’s over

(Bitten by the hand that feeds you)

Don’t you feel it? I do.

(Holding to what you’re beholden to)