This me that I hear talking
Who is it? Who's me?

Everything is happening, everywhere, every day
The hours become seconds, as days bleed into nights
Dissonance and clarity, they make up this mind, they infest like parasites
As they bite, they take what good was left inside
And for dogma, we divide
To our idols, we confide
If the end is really getting here, then please, end the strife

Wired to the mega-sphere, pulling me in all places
Fractured and never here, judgment clouded by the dissociation
Searching for peace of mind in ruination
Fuck

This information, it's overloading
Flooding and drowning
Unrest, I'm absorbing
Static, distorting

うそばかり

All this information is overloading
We are drowning, and you just realized it's flooding
Growing numb to unrest, I'm absorbing
Just like static, what I know is distorting

Machine, morbid yet perfect, the insisted mistake
Hope, juxtaposed, as it lingers next to an abysmal trait
Machine, morbid yet perfect, the insisted mistake
Hope, juxtaposed, as it lingers next to an abysmal trait

All the functions of the human body, without exception
Can be put into simple words and described in terms that are purely materialistic
The body is nothing but a machine
If the physical limitations of the human body restrict mankind’s ability to evolve
It would be as if the fall of the species called man had already been decided
By a God that doesn’t even exist