Listen Up!  It doesn’t make much sense  To go around fearing the world you created  It’s a simple niche   Limp body, left to fill it.  And all this talk of perfection  Is defining your actions  It takes a toll on you    Never cloud the images of ones  You’re trying to remember  It’s all a matter of opinion    So much can change when comfort kicks in  Stop searching souls for soulless companions    The misdirected audience   Gets stranded in the fire  If it ever comes, times are changing  Innocent ones  So, take it for what its worth  And be Grateful for it  Will never come  As expected    Let’s set the stage  And kill the lights  The sand sifts through your fingers  It’s chipping at the bone  Chipping at the bone  A life slowly remembered  That fabricates the soul  Fabricates the soul  Fabricates the soul    It’s a simple niche  With, Limp body, left  To fill it.    these lyrics are submitted by Bixon21