sugarcoated painkillers

Isle of flightless addicts

The pastor's start of an end
light taps of the claws above the ceiling
it's forcing this dreadful isle to mend, or most likely pretend
Is it yours or are you borrowing this feeling?

They tell you he's here
with the grace of your safe routine we've all been hearing

I see it stops the fear
he's beside you when you sleep in the evening

Because you tell yourself that's all it has to do.

Our open minds want to shrink because they'll know that's what he'll think
And the addicts, like myself
and like everybody else
can't pick up what's been there
the good and evil under their hair
But it's right on top of your shelf
with everything you aren't even capable to share with yourself

The sheep make a masterpiece
out of all the feathers inside the core
you can't appreciate the rage put into this garden, you really just want more
gaining off this dreadful feeling
your wings only wake when they see it in gore

You say you're listening to the flightless trapped on my roof.

We're giving no response to our creator?
but is that all we have to do?
when my only drop of water
that you claim came from my father
lands on my crafttable
doesn't drain from my palm
and lets me do what i'm able
should I really just stay calm?

My mind is up high but I'm pinned to the floor
do you think wind is the answer?
The turbulence in our actions, i need to close this door
only one spiral is what it takes to make fire out of my head,

it aches

Burning through my skin that has now turned to sand
I always seem to come back to this dreadful land
back to where I've been wondering
and staring at the pen in my hand

You make insect repellent to kill the spiders
that help you live without the flies
you tell me this is what I want
when all you do is feed me lies

Naivety's what made the Middle Ages
you say it's history, but now it's in our faces
meanwhile the rain falls
but never fails to avoid me
you think this is a nightmare?
Everyday, this is what I see

When that drop
that tiny full drop
makes my vision clear and ambitious
the feathers aren't enough for your petals
so let's start this again and see who's vicious

My isle of flightless birds
is waiting to be known
but not to join your herds
I want to make my own.

Now all the rain I swallow you turned into acid,
maybe that's why i'm so erratic.