Hypoxic کے بول

Crawling and frail Cold, concrete prisons Take the ardor of all Our very being Stark confines Dark walls No convalescence Breath dissipating Wasted, hypoxic Longing for the free, open air No purpose Woeful Our obsolescence Useless, we rot In empty stagnation Lost, ashamed, we wither away I wander through the desert Of a mind long lost in absence Drifting through the futility Of what was left behind When our nature’s calling was cast aside for hubris And these iron towers, these steel, wrought shackles Drifting through the futility of what was left behind Alone we gaze into our long-forgotten selves We cannot recognize our own reflection We built these towers And we must tear them down Lest we forget ourselves And suffocate alone