L.C.D.

Mirror of souls, divine gift or fortuitous? Mirror of the soul, I beg for purpose Entering a state lethargic and numb Writhing for days, melancholic hum The days blending together, rejecting the sun Getting bored yet? Yapping for months behind a fucking screen Over and over reoccurring fever dream The ways of LCD Path of LCD Immense knowledge at a finger's tip Cast aside, embody selfishness Premeditated anomaly, passionless grub Revolting and hungry, a thirst for reaction Never unfurled, never quite quenched Never blooming Mirror of souls, habitually pious Mirror of souls, we’re begging for purpose Dreary lives spent emulating extravagance All hail the digital ledger, carve onto its cave walls Docile waste congeals Docile waste congeals Echo chamber chapels Never the problem, always the solution Inconvenience a new cardinal sin Always the solution