Smoke and mirrors, secret hallways.
Our home, left behind in ruin, became somone's sacred holy land.
And still, searching for the devine, your plague will choke the life from us.
One day we will learn to stand.
No one in front, none above, not quite sure what we've become.
We're all great communicators and all such fucking fakers.
We're doves with golden haloes shot dead in the streets.
And looking up with fear, clouds open wide.
We stand, mouths agape at smoke and mirrors: your fucking lie.
