There is a tear in sanity, a break in humanity, an inflation of vanity
Truth only revealed by sleuth and social standards defined by couth
And so it drips on, closing the gaps, the fissures
Entwined by sutures, entwined by pain
The hands, they hold us captive
Clasping at weary hearts

We cannot give.
Woven together as silk with ends that are unclosed, untied
There is a thread left on the turning spindle
Threatening the structure, as one we are unbreakable
As many

We are nothing.
Nothing but a collection of fibers dusting on a wooden floor
Gripped tightly by the hands, tortured slowly by the device
The device that is time, clocks ticking
Hearts beating

We are racing.
Racing to fight the inevitable downfall of mankind
The splitting of our wounds, the breaking of our crest
It is neither anatomy nor blood that binds us, it is pain
United by despair,

We are one.