DESCRIPTION:
Written by Milen Petzelt-Sorace, Spencer Creaghan, Dickson Benjamin © 2016. All Rights Reserved

MUSIC:

Pay what you want on Bandcamp: https://theframedefect.bandcamp.com/album/selfless

Spotify:
https://open.spotify.com/album/0KKkXYQg5M3Z8hoKfF5o92

iTunes:
https://itunes.apple.com/ca/album/selfless/id1143824976

THE FRAME DEFECT:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/theframedefect/

IG: http://bit.ly/2yIzfZp

Twitter: http://bit.ly/2h22VHH

Lyrics:

My hands bound in front of me in a makeshift plea for mercy,
As I finally come to see the irony of you walking freely
In delusion of wrong versus right.
Turning a blind eye to the mirror on the other side.
Keep them from us. Keep us from them.

The curse of empathy and the want for absolution.
Never spoken, recited in silence.
Hidden away.

Like stained glass mounted on the wall.
Distinct and contrasting fractured pieces,
Pushed together and held by the lines.
A moment of clarity from this haze.
As fragile as it is transparent.
Hold the line.

It’s here, now, clear as day,
I see what you wanted but ashamed to say.
A target, a leader, to blame and to praise.
To pin your beliefs and antitheses.

Will it ever be enough?
It would never be enough.
Can you fix the cracks of a broken system?

The cries of the innocent were never meant for me,
But a shoulder to carry the mantle of whatever they want you to be,
With no regard for what sorry soul they tear apart.
Turning the best of intentions to the worst of consequences.

I emerge.
I'm released from the name that you've given me.
Your nightmares, your daydreams, and mediocrities.
I'm reborn and stretch my wings.

I am the canvas to paint your ethics.
The doll you split to pieces.
The songs of good and evil.
The sword and the shield.
The day and the night.
The dark and the light.
Every predictable rhyme that hides the truth:
They're but inching steps in the delicate dance of grey.

I can see it in the distance.
A place to rest these weary eyes.
A familiar sound takes shape.

I take my seat on this throne with my cup raised high.
Filled to the brim with potassium chloride.
To the voices that ring outside these walls,
I can promise you,
Things have changed.
I can promise you,
That tomorrow won’t be another day.