Focuri - Distant Path
Work hard, live well
Those fundamentals you're in,
Half drained, half stuffed,
Well treated like an old mule.
Your god is great
It's feeding your delusion,
I've seen, your faith
It's growing into madness.
Why do we fight? These walls
When we are hardly raise them,
Enslave ourselves
And eat the dreams that made us.
All these men running from a distant path
Are shifting away from the holes they fit.
Those brave men fighting for a chance on top
Are finding their way through the graves they dig.
