I have the feeling that this feedback is washing me off of any identity Loosening up the safety bolts screwed down my very self Barricades falling one by one No longer an actor, just a mere bystander straying I have no doubt you breached my spirit I loose the grasp of my string of thoughts A cloud of shouts clashes through my ears These wordings, so strange, incantations boiling out my fluids All I can comprehend is my soul is softening, beaten by the brazenness of their tongues Gutted, ethereal and distilled, I'm their tiny delicacy Pummeling my skull with a brutal infancy I develop compassion for your condition So devoid of any substance yet explicit Is this the genesis of your doctrine? These cunning spongers takes control as I'm becoming nothing more than a blueprint I loose the grasp of my string of thoughts Why should I follow you if only for the high you're giving me Let me cut short and call a spade a spade This is proselytism Learn who you are, hysteria stricken mime Run away from this place, my child Your jaw can dance, would your tongue flee?