Текст песни Sacred3 - Original - Dr. Syntax

We'd all like some praise
But by the same token
We'd all like to stay in line;
Idle, fake notions
Obliged to, aspired to
And while we stay hoping
Our time's due
Must be a fine day approaching
Waiting for a minor sign or vague omen
A bright ray of light
Or a shiny gate opening
No one keeps an eye on the prize;
Fate frozen
There's no peace-of-mind trying to wait while the game's loading;
Seize the controller
Apply your mind to the grind like breaking up meat with your molars
Sometimes I feel many people are soulless
Beauty isn't in the eye, it's in beliefs of the holders
Engraved on their being
So in a sense when they only crave greater
Status they're a slave to what they're seeing
God fearers are afraid to stop believing
Similarly others stay blinking
So they can block their demons
It's all the same;
Just a different way of stopping reason
From prevailing;
People stop and change with the seasons
And squander meaning
Talking of God and heathens
We're all the same faceless flock on our way to obsoletion now

Does someone have to explain it?
What's bad and what is sacred?
'Cuz life's what you make it
And once it's done you can't change it

They're howling in their lairs
They're barking at the moon
There's people out there
With no marbles left to lose
Men and women seldom in a calm and pleasant mood
With pressure bringing tension no balm can ever soothe
Cracking under strain
Ravished with a pain
'Til they're acting pretty strange;
Making animals look tame
Incapable of hate, love embarrassment or shame
Strangers in a cave struggle out their living days
The city bustles
It's a shimmering huddle of twitching muscle
Little wonder some become a bit befuddled
People live in bubbles
Keeping their opinions muzzled
Restricted vision with a filtered funnel
Facts remain obscure;
Lines are blurred
Every notion of emotion is enclosed in signs and words
With no alternative you might prefer
You better go set your mind at work
Or prepare to spend some nights on curbs
Fluorescent coats
Ties and shirts
Whatever the dress code
The prize, or the dirt
We're fighting of thirst before our final merge
Under piles of earth with no feeling left in our final nerve