Pulling the Right Strings

The devil on my shoulder Knows just the right words To cause me to doubt myself

Cold Deity

Howling to the moon She stares back Coldly and does not respond

Practical people weary of no purpose.

Soon I will be gone From here and this small town will Be in the rearview

Cut my heart out And feast upon it It's much kinder

Living in a world of gas mask terror Never thought I'd see the day Where we would fear

Puppets dangle from their strings Slumped, in disarray Waiting for the masters directions

There's a whisper on the wind And my head turns As though you have called my name But there is only the wind

The smell of dying roses Lingers in the air Long after they're gone

I'd sell my soul But it was stolen From me long before