City of Webs
Welcome home, this is the last stop before a bunk bed enclosed in grey the last great facade.
Welcome home again.
In a scheme to point the finger.
Here's my trust, keep it well.
Paper clipped to a forgery is where you'll find it.
Welcome home again.
Speak in lost words, just say something.
Tell me anything.
Point that finger so twisted like mine.
As if words could change the discarded time and let me feel.
It's so hard to be the judge, save yourself, surely I can't.