Scrivener
Into The Fold
For a while you could cheat the game
Hanging 'round with the waifs and strays
What didn't matter before will rip through the floor
It's open season on killing time
You don't grow up you just tow the line
And from a pulpit on fire you preach to the choir
So welcome a brother into the fold
You find yourself empty, growing old
You run from your false start
With a bent back to your coup de grace
My little bell jar
We're swept round like leaves in the wind
But you condescend and rail against
This or that dependency
Say a prayer to the void, the place you avoid
Welcome my brothers into the fold
You'll find yourself empty, growing old
In four walls alone, it's your home
Denied though you didn't ask for much
And don't make a fuss
From Letras Mania