Know the sin, disengage within. Turn   over and play the cards we've dealt, as   another day is sentenced to death. Rise   above or become a hopeless survivour,   treading water for the slaughter.      No debate, our past is made. Once again   second rate will fade. Second rate will   fade.      Consumed and controlled, by hurt and   hardship - don't let another day be   sentenced to death.      Cos we're cut out, cut to doubt. We may   try to cut out what we feel. Though we're   cut to doubt what is real, we feel.      Renew from restraint, condemned by   complaint, cos fate's a fine dotted line.   Cos we may try to cutout what is real,   I won't let my doubt control the way I   feel. We may try, to cut out what we feel   thought it is real. Cut out our doubt.