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Blight
by
Deca
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Uh-huh One's blight's another's paradise of unpolished gems Plucked from the dollar bins dust mites are crawlin' in Don't put me in a box with them, I need oxygen So I can say my peace like an extended olive limb When the public square turn into a coliseum? The plan's to opt out the panopticon Buy a plot of land, reduce the Babel Tower to a pile of sand And find a portal to the time before the fall of man It all began, so I'm told, with a sound Then along came a rogue out to steal the king's crown Eyеs on the summit, tryin' to become it Firе in his stomach, pride before the plummet All the true progress to offset his aims is now Empty plat**udes and cosmetic change The priests traded in their black robes for white lab coats Sniffin' out dissent from the shadows in the back roads So it moves and meanders And warps and distorts when viewed through news cameras Some open, some doors slam shut There's bullet holes in armpits, they said that he refused to put his hands up The rules have changed, it's new terrain The manufactured tools used to drain the blue runnin' through your veins Are billowin' smoke like movin' trains And takin' aim at every qubit of our souls in a losin' game The world stage is set Engaged in battle with the shadows that the state projects in a fixed game of chess The loudest ones never practice what they profess And point fingers when their own demons pose the greatest threat Malaise in the final days as the fires rage And melancholia comes in tidal waves Walk around scrawlin' my name inside the maze Then crawl into a nautilus shell and hide away The highest praise couldn't pull a fish from the pits of hell When his self accusations morph into a prison cell It'll take more than pennies in the wishin' well To tip the scales and see the light behind the lifted veil So it moves and meanders And warps and distorts when viewed through news cameras Some open, some doors slam shut There's bullet holes in armpits, they said that he refused to put his hands up The rules have changed, it's new terrain The manufactured tools used to drain the blue runnin' through your veins Are billowin' smoke like movin' trains And takin' aim at every qubit of our souls in a losin' game
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