We're out of touch. Inspired by fitting in on the fence. We don't feel much. Admire our insignificance. With slight of hand we turn our coats to infrequency to understand how far we've come to inconsistency. Despite of everything we said we're still trying to hear the words. We're still spinning in our heads thoughts around until it hurts.
Maybe we're strangers making excuses.
Maybe we're liars making empires entirely useless.