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I could choke to death trying to breathe in this room full of sighs,
All that's being born is everything that dies,
And life is just a series of events to which you are slaved,
And all that's left of yourself is what your insanity has saved.

I can see it all so clear,
In the peaceful light that swallows,
But everywhere leads back here,
The craving darkness follows.

Ambition is like a fourteen year old with a hard-on, And meaning; the king of deceit and you play its mood-pawn,
And with a mind like a cemetery you still lust for the kingdom,
With a certain zero numbness you still want to become.

It's in the friction of the shadow,
In the light which it swallows,
In the knowledge of what you can't know,
The arrogant darkness follows.

In the museum of my consciousness there is a special place,
An empty shrine for an empty god without a face, And resolution hangs in the balance of a moody globe,
And there's never time for revelation; for just trying to cope.

Not lost but finding,
Everything the darkness swallows,
Aposiopetic motion unbinding,
The relentless darkness follows.

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