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