The monsters are made,
and we have proven that we will be one of them.
The whores take the stage...flash our skills...
gotta draw 'em in...gotta keep 'em on their toes...
don't show them how you truly are...who would want honesty...
who would want a group of people that one can relate with.
We need worship, we need devotion...
becoming gods from the image that is thrown...
thrown out in their everyday lives to comfort...
it's not a musical journey anymore...
they chose Camilla and we stood by her the entire time...
monotonous expression...a forced replica of a tired sound...
puppets for a greed-driven carnival...
the same charade as the passing years...
force me out there. Don't give them a chance.
They want to be fed...fed a simple replication of past greatness.
(Things have changed...we have changed.
Personal happiness is what we strive to achieve...
so you can love or hate...it won't change a thing for us.)
Step back. Evaluate. Recognize.
We just need to throw some new ideas in...
(It) will eventually get out of this closed off circle we are part of...
it's all the same.
This is all we have when we die.
It's what's left of us when we die.
We will be remembered for this.
White wall.
compositores: Cartland Blake Richardson, Daniel Lanford Briggs, Paul Andrew Waggoner, Robert Dustin Waring, Thomas Giles Rogers
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