focused on the gleam of the razor s edge mind is fixed on the surface just below the ledge chase the clock around in circles time moves slow for those the slaves to the page they re gonna choke it s a crutch but its never enough a moral crux they re born to cower in front of those bastards empowered the illusion of faction is all apart of the farce chase the clock around in circles or let em rot with a cross eternal a fucking crutch but it s never enough your moral crux