We're fighting fire with pharmacy. We're fitting in with infirmary. We're trading favors for family. We're flirting with informality. So we bat our lashes and blink our eyes like moths fluttering in a flattering light. You can almost see through our wings. Wings that wear their wires well and touch the tips of time will tell. December's full of traitors. Their wounds will hide them well like dust in a coffin, coughing. Stealing glances from the side of the story glorified. Fighting phantoms in random fantasies full of realities. Stand up a slave and stay that way till we get back. Stand up and save the chains that change your hearts to black. We are counting down from one to come to a common sense that knowing nothing's our defense. We better make this quick. Panic has a tight grip over me. In it's fist I fight for life. Breath being the best friend I've ever had till choking occurs and then I'm all out of that. Bad idea in the first place. I'm starting to think this is just a case of facing the fact I forgot about. I need corrective lenses to see through this outside focus for us at least. So stand up a slave and save yourself. We are counting down from one to come to a common sense that knowing nothing's our defense against the defenseless.