The disengagement
Of the bubble is 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

Well, we talk about the past
Like it’s the strangest dream
Then we repeat the things
We never dreamed we’d do
I understand that sometimes
We all must dance with fuckery,
But everybody’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

Is dance

Question period’s over.
Don’t you feel it? I do.

You’ll be pummeled by
The certainty of minions
It’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, it’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)
Question period’s over.
(Holding to what you’re beholden to)
Don’t you feel it? I do.

Question period’s over
(Bitten by the hand that feeds you)
Don’t you feel it? I do.

(Holding to what you’re beholden to)