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