Lirieke: Solstice Coil. A Prescription For Paper Cuts. Even Poets Die.

A line of naked empty faces
Was stacked up in the courtyard
Stripped with shiny matching fabrics
Big ideas, flowing down the drain
Like tasteless grains in the air
They all hoped to make a difference

In a land
Where blind men live forever
Even poets die
When dirt means more to you
Than man
We shall soon all turn to ashes
In your behalf

We were modified at birth
Adjusted to hypothetical borders
Destined to morph
Into someone else's dream
Shine your shoes
Or be locked away
We're just preparing you
For the ultimate surrender
Of your foundations

(Thanks to Warman for these lyrics)