Impulse

This is the end of a pleasant vice
As if seemingly large butterflies with loud echoes
Screamed down an empty hallway of everything
But removes only the dust, creation: clarity

What more do we expect when we want to forget
As if the secularist solution ever saved souls
Last resort leaves us hanging on a shadow of a doubt
That nothing can save us now

What lies and voices that overflow from our heart's content
That we believe in such inspiration of thieves
Who steal nothing but what's against the disciplinary wall
Your minds are sand, and I prefer pavement

Love less and love more, idols and hope
There's more to it than just soft, sweet temporariness
Hard walks are hard to walk on, but the path runs to cotton
Blemish and mistake are of the past when the moment shows