A Subtle Dagger کے بول

it infiltrates, insidious, it feigns at love, betrays our trust in what we've known, since we were born. the truth we've found in all we see points to design, still our chests swell, we'll never find true answers from a wishing well. so feed us all another lie, to still our thoughts, appease our pride, so we wont have to chance the way we see, we live, we love, we die, our lust precedes our blasphemy, our logic reads like notes from tainted autopsy. our souls they speak of something more, but we cant look beyond ourselves. we implore empty skies because our heats hold room for no one else, we extend our claws to grasp at shadows of the ideals we have, lost causalities of a subtle dagger, buried to the hilt in our hearts, blood on our hands.