Empire of Wrath

Simulation, simulation in the quiet hours Steps that don't quite match the crowd Crowds push by in perfect rows I trip on cracks they never see Wearing dreams that unravel slowly Messy, mismatched, wild and free Expressions blur like smudged old paint I chase the edges, pull away Laughter bounces off the walls But mine gets tangled fades to grey I'm the art thread in the weave Pulling loose where seams should hold Dancing sideways out of beat Hard to jag it, never sold Won't fit the shape they carved for me This glitch is all I've got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Street lamps flicker like unsure eyes Shadows stretch in crooked lines I collect the scraps they leave behind Build a tower that leans and winds Voices call from scripted plays I mumble lines that twist and bend Lost in loops that no one knows My private storm without an Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be Got to be The crowd