Inked In Blood - Comatose lyrics

Praxis is the touchtone of our thought Minds inform our movement making music with our actions - We are all musicians; dancing to the beat of a thousand different drums - Combined in tribal counterpoint - until the chaos is so loud it can no longer be heard Only felt - and these words are not spoken, but they are yelled All of your words have fallen to the ground You have sold yourself to vanity I see your masks, falsehood seeps from you But I don't believe a single tale from you You scream of destruction and of anarchy You writhe in the pain of a love once lost But I don't buy a word, not one word You sell what's true of yourself (for) vain silver Every last drop of your blood runs cold; (you) stale cadaver When did your heart last beat (you) whitewashed corpses? Your pulse has faded - your face so pale (you) stale cadaver If this is oppression, your heart should be beating If you are a warrior, your foe should be bleeding If this really hurts you, I should find you weeping I've only just met you yet, I find that your comatose conviction means nothing to me Choke on your glory I won't let you suffocate what now lives Art is the depth of our essence, it cannot be void of truth The truth of your expression has withered - your wick has become cold You cannot buy what's real You cannot buy the truth