Running from every wicked little town is gonna run you down. To blame is to wear your heart on your sleeve. What a wicked way our hearts deceive. Trying not to be the lost take. Of your every day existence. The further that we dig, the shallower we become. The harder that we judge, the harder it is to budge. The splinters in the whites of our own eyes. Help me to find a place where love is not some half illusion. Dreams do not come to those who choose to see nightmares. Sometimes you get so used to screaming without making a sound. Believing the illusions of grandeur as friendly as they may seem. What a pretty world, what a pretty world of make believe. The wicked way our hearts deceive. Our hearts deceive. The further that we dig, the shallower we become. The harder that we judge, the harder it is to budge. The splinters in the whites of our own eyes. Pride’s insistence, failure’s persistence.
