City Of The Dead

We split atoms
Induce spasm when we abandon canon
To sing for angels with clipped wings; songs for decapitating cannibals and kings

Aligned against that lock-step, slumber, complacent. Since those Hub City days making magic in the basement. We knew convention was sedation

Fast forward to chest constriction, & slightly modified convictions
I watched my father draw his last breath, mine is a similar affliction
These days they get it gift-wrapped. But when the battery’s dead we can still read the map

I’m facing time
Is it mine?
Are you still disinclined
To fall in linе?

And no matter where my pеople make their beds, we’re still broadcasting live from the City of the Dead
You’ve got us surrounded, so what else is new?
Stick around and find out who’s really turning the screw