Testo
Trying to see, vision unclear
Distortions persist, we bend and we veer
Different destination than what was first planned
Depleted, but hungry, I forge with my hands
With my hands
Yeah
Yeah, it presses up, pulling me down
The rope retains tightly bound
Self-inflicted fear of the unknown
Shackles gripping tight, pulled off from the throne
From the throne
Hiding from who?
The glare of the world?
Is it a glare or a gaze to behold?
Don't fucking cower
Stand your ground
Stare right back and be proud
