Presence

[Part I] What's the future for a city with a broken sky? Brush off tragedies for breakfast, watch it multiply They'd rather sink with their belief than take a shot in pride Thinking the lesson is more weapons brand new ways to die And our attention is averted brand new ways to hide Pile bodies onto court cases of others' lives Treat every mishap like the last until we're out of time Clock is ticking you're still under trance of fluffy dice We made Private Pyle We made Postal We go global with it Got the earth inside a chokehold Burning forests, killing children Bet it feels weird when you hear it spoken out in diction This life we're living ends up more reality than [Part II] Problem was never intent Pave the streets with red Sewers bleeding through the vents What is left to make of this What is left to make of kids dead What is left to make of scared pigs What is left to make of hat tricks and What is left to make of the states Fifty places tracked to decay What is left to make of the states Fifty places moving in shape