Mouthpiece

The disengagement of the bubbleâ??s hypnotizing Some say below the doughy crust the beast is rising We like to talk about the past We like to talk about the past We talk about the past like itâ??s the strangest dream We repeat the thing we never dreamed weâ??d do I understand that sometimes we all must dance with fuckery But everybodyâ??s pissing in the well of our suffering I want to breathe in all the ashes of the books they tried to burn I want to feel the pages in my skin and understand the words Castrate fiction, call it circumstance They say her wanderings are dangerous All she wants to do is dance Dance Question periodâ??s over, donâ??t you feel it, I do Youâ??ll be pummeled by the certainty of minions Itâ??s a puppet show, a theatre of opinions A Chorus of flack Feeder of the pack You can hear the shaky timbre of the voices most alone Yeah itâ??s easier to sing within the crowd Those who pretend to believe hardest might actually begin to The nature of the bliss the warmth of ignorance gives into I want to breathe in all the ashes of the books they tried to burn I want to taste resilience on my tongue and love beyond concern Mass-grave subtlety, leave it for the birds They say the world it might be dangerous But all it seems to do is turn Bitten by the hand that feeds you Holding to what youâ??re beholden to (Question periodâ??s over, donâ??t you feel it? I do) Bitten by the hand that feeds you (Question periodâ??s over, donâ??t you feel it? I do) Holding to what youâ??re beholden to