Trapped here in this centrifuge. Soul separated from my body and mind. I am forced to see myself.
Oil on water on grains of sand. Rotate and settle out so I can see them. I am forced from sleep.

My dreams stay with me. My eyes still see them.

Latent images influence every action. Quiet rhetoric influences every thought. Cuts out our eyes and deafens our ears. Molding out dreams to spark consumption.

What is real? What part of myself was molded from within?

This veil over my eyes grew underneath the skin meant to be mine. It's clouding my thoughts.

What needs, what desires, what love and what hatred is my own?

All I want is the freedom of clarity. This centrifuge will tear their masks right off.

Look to the street and see the scene that is going to fix this. Deadened by the days of this redundant life. Deadened by the call of quiet voices.

This centrifuge will tear their masks right off.

Open their eyes to all things behind them. Open their ears to the voice inside them.

We must see this world through this centrifuge. I'll always need this time to rediscover our love and our hate.