We mapped it out with silver tongues we slipped into the willing arms of a thousand plus daughters and sons.
We spun it down just to watch it fall like the sediment inside your walls. If you give me blood I can read your palms.
What were those things we said? Oh, I don’t remember them.
We’re a formula, concise and clear, a predictable reaction dear. A derivative of what we fear.
And every hue of your emerald eyes is an integer I’ve memorized and the beauty is that the numbers never lie.
What were those things we said? Oh, I don’t remember them. Well they must not be important then.
We were cultured with a cerebral lust in a centrifuge of love and trust where they analyzed it out of us.
Have we lost the part of ourselves that was most like everyone else? Have we sacrificed a sacred right just to make it through this hell? And if we save a thousand souls with the numbers that we know what’s the point if nothing’s beautiful? What’s the point if nothing’s beautiful?
What were those things we swore? Was it all before the war? Well I don’t think that it matters anymore.