The Selected Animal


The songs of apes...

The Dead Doll Manikin

Automatic and faceless.
We'll slit our throats to get your pity.
Eat out our hearts and bleed like your guilty.
We're stitched up, with your fuck-ups.
When we cry, we invented the tear.

We're victims of delusions.
Our pain is always vain.
Dig a hole deep inside of me.
All there is, is lies.
A dead doll with puppet flies.
We're completely fictionalized.

Automatic and faceless.
Choking on their bitter morals.
The world's filth falls like glitter on their pride.
Poetry is etched on the blade of every sword and knife.
When they hold us down, they rise.

Pretending to be perfect with mindless poses, make-up smiles and fake-up lies.
All their imperfections are decorated and justified.
A thousand excuses for every cut they make.
A thousand reasons why everything they do is ok.
As long as they have something to blame...
They'll never make a mistake.

Automatic and faceless.
Unreal and unrealized.
Living on the ends of strings.
Crippled upon their crutches.
Asleep in their dreams.

Cover the blemishes with the world's scars and fraility.
Never stop to see. Even with our imperfections they're just as ugly.
Their reflection is painted on their mirrors.
With the blood of reality and all their fears.
Are they smiling or just posing?
Are they moving or is it just the scenery?

Automatic and faceless.
Dying to speak, they'll die before they listen.
They crawl into our shadows to avoid making their own.
If they were real, they wouldn't need us to heal.
If they were real...