Once there was a time when we could learn
all the simple pleasantries a follower should yearn
now all that I can do is watch them burn
and wish that I could save them all, or just one
See the Fake, everyday shaking hands of men, promising the end.
Hear Him Speak of all the things that we need to hear, to adhere
Justify, your secrecies that surmise your cries
I see the way you look around the bend
is it going to end, when?
