by industrial psychosis
You took a gun to your compassion,
Slowly smothered me with hate.
Do you think about the future
And the fire you create?
With your hand upon my sorrow,
And your blade against my will;
Do you stop to wipe away what's left
Of the acid that you spill?
Is your mind possessed by demons,
Only suffering can dispel?
Did you think of who would catch you,
If by chance your reason fell?
Will in time your narcissism melt away,
To leave your sheltered core?
Or have you folded inside yourself,
No love left anymore?
Bring me closer to an answer,
As for an answer my heart cries.
But for every question that you answer,
Another question shall arise.