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