• Gazing into a mirror that reflects an ugly face,
    i get lost in eyes with no trace of warmth, like those of the hatred-born wraith.
    Those eyes, brown like s**t, are representatives of the world's apathy and corrosion,
    perfectly synchronized with the dreamer's mind broken.
    Those eyes, unable to adapt, so inept,
    are unwilling to engage, for fear of rage, encroaching motion, kept
    sealed inside a recluse's heart; unkempt for so long.
    Minions' opinions obstruct my own view of what's right and what's wrong.
    Everything i did, everything i didn't do, it's all coming back to me; relentlessly attacking me.
    I was struck down, and i'm stuck now, by my inadequacy
    Those eyes, they show everything: all the pain stuck in my maw.
    I feel sick just thinking of tomorrow, and i can't swallow all the s**t, today and yesterday, i saw.
    I can see myself as i crawl to my death, though my final breath's nowhere near.
    I try so hard to avoid them, but i can't evade those mechanical eyes that gaze back from the mirror.