Happy Fingers

Play the cards of fascination
Tread the bards of extermination
Here we are, the sons of peril
Hear the call for liberation here
But then we're all losing
Our kindly nature
Stoking the flame of your
Weak
Mental
Capacity
We are fickle makers of tragedy
Break the fall of desecration
Standing tall above our past
Spread the lies upon our nation
Pledge the call to liberate
Be my pardon
Align your pretensions of
Why we, why we, why we won't break
We see your attention too
You are point blank
Blighted
You take, you take, you take care of your kind
I am the chosen one
I am the broken one
I am the fallen son
I am the protestant
I am the creature that
Follows the foolery
All of the prisoners
Of all your profiting
Lies of the best
Lie to my face until the end
We all swore to apathy
We are the sons
Tragedy
Wide awake
Awaken me
Like a bird never came
I see you
Head high
High
We know why
We are worst of
Came to waste
They who decided your
Fate of the chosen one
Fate of the broken one
Fate of the fallen son
I am the protestant
I'm with the vision that's played to their detriment
You are the one that supports all of their profiting
We bury the seed
Brittle, brittle, brittle, brittle needs
Needs
Eyes wide open
Pray you'll be saved
Don't want to be more of what you can't be
Keeping the evil alive
We are
No
Pleasures are sounding so evil
How can this be
Half a being
Less of all the shameful ones
Half beings