Maybe it's not the way you speak
that makes you so vulnerable.
Maybe it's the whispers in your ear,
the backwards motives.

And you cut me low with those gestures.
They're just bastard remarks to make your pleasure.
But I must confess
that mirror plated smile does impress.

Where do we draw the line this time,
when the walls that they place don't feel outside?
Well I'll make my own reservation,
so keep it in mind.
Perhaps I should erase you...
No, no, no, I can't decide.

Indentations of all these roots,
shorted out wires and more dead ends.
Well maybe it's the signals that disappear,
the endless current.

And these killers laid me in the quicksand,
well there couldn't be a more deserving man.
But I must address:
Why are we stepping through the mirror
when all that I love is on this side?
Maybe I could never see it clearer,
with all the taunting thoughts that haunt my mind.

The systematic selfish mortal sense of time,
well it moves through your head,
it fucks with your head.
And those scales that you hold don't convince the equilibrium,
but now that you're here, let's discuss how we feel.

Where do we draw the line this time,
when the walls that they place don't feel outside?
Well I'll make my own reservation,
so keep it in mind.
Perhaps I should erase you...
No, no, no, I can't decide.