A Subtle Dagger
it infiltrates, insidious.
it feints 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 another lie,
to still our thoughts,
appease our pride,
so we won't have to
change the way we see,
we live, we love, we die.
our lusts precede
our blasphemy.
our logic reads
like notes from a tainted autopsy.
our souls they speak of something more,
but we can't look beyond ourselves.
we implore empty skies because our hearts hold room for no one else.
we extend our claws to grasp at shadows of the ideals we have lost,
casualties of a subtle dagger,
buried to the hilt in our heart,
blood on our hands.
that was also by Thrice
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