perfect cities in perfect glass boxes
carved out of flawless stone
you wish you were an inhabitant
because then you’d finally be a model

abandoned art galleries
sneaking into the museum at midnight
remember when the art brushes were first laid down?
yeah, me neither

godlike girls parading themselves in public
self-pity and hatred is back in style
it’s not what you are that makes you matter
it’s what you do with your life

a ghost whispers some lyrics in my ear
the faces, the people don’t matter
but the sounds span generations
what sounds will you leave behind?


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