'Certainty,” we are told, 'is a luxury granted to few through instruction.” Noth ing has ever been sacred, holy, set apart. Never. Spoon-fed, force-fed watered d own 'wisdom” espousing the status quo. I only exist as I am rendered; apostate, shaped in the eyes of tradition
as little more than the yield of misgivings. This system: 'blessed,” 'edifying,” mocking the worth in words. Is there a shape of failure fitting perfectly to fo rm? This soil is cursed, we continue to sow it. Our bodies have withered in time for the harvest. Is there a
shape of failure fitting perfectly to form? Will I mold to your ideals or do I g et to keep my own? Why should I gather everything to fill a box of empty space? I'm collapsing as you fill me with your bastard sense of grace. Every fleeting n otion is a burden left to bear,
an educated filter for breathing stagnant air. We're forgotten, abstraction, nov elty, worthless, always imperfect. The death of purpose. Fox Ears And Silence Sözleri, AkorMerkezi.com'da yayınlanmıştır. http://www.akormerkezi.com
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