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Echelon
Yet another grid defines the course of the day and chemistry of hands we forfeit effort is this reality
Forced upon ourselves just to carry on the reality is what's left in your mind in the end a sense of
Actuality could be just a state of confusion and the only certainty is our discolouration left in a
Thousand pieces with nobody to reconstruct who would know and care enough to reattach what's
Left of us compile the traces of what documents a life can you see a clear portrait or living vision is all
You'll leave at the funeral a life of labour or shaking hands from a crying family my advice and reason
My advice and reason is put aside and overlooked locked away inaudible notes forgotten overtime
Destroying me completely discount me from your echelon in this endless competition it's all a
*** scam.
