The Pattern

Always afraid to speak, self-locked in involution
So puzzled of your own irresolution
Screaming in revolt, you only grumble
You run so bold in fight but you stumble
Disciplined, impotent, implement
You wait aside in rumble

That's why
IT CUTS RIGHT THROUGH YOU
RIGHT THROUGH YOU

Big and grandiloquent, the words said in the mirror
A smoking barrel of a gun with no trigger
You stand in glory, again you're dusted
Kneeled in the corner of your life, you're rusting
Patternized, methodized, equalized
Made so well adjusted

That's why
IT CUTS RIGHT THROUGH YOU
RIGHT THROUGH YOU

So transparent in your plastic glory
A mouth of a sycophant with a virulent spit
A cancer eating through the roots of tolerance
A pattern rusted, repeated through the week

You're...
Paralyzed, methodized, equalized
In the pattern rusted

That's why
IT CUTS RIGHT THROUGH YOU
RIGHT THROUGH YOU

A patternized sickness that cuts
IT CUTS RIGHT THROUGH YOU
A cancerous weakness that cuts
IT CUTS RIGHT THROUGH YOU

The Pattern
IT CUTS RIGHT THROUGH YOU