Song | The Machinist |
Artist | Mychildren Mybride |
Album | Unbreakable |
We're approaching the gloating | |
Of another dealer's winning hand | |
The inspiring delusions | |
Living up to the dreams of modern man | |
And I swear we put our lives into everything, giving all we have | |
But we're lacking the reaping, | |
slaughtering the weakest of society's hard working calves | |
Trying to bring us down again | |
But we're still having the times of our lives | |
What we've lost we'll gain back again | |
The machine is tearing out our insides | |
(repeat) | |
We're picking up all the pieces, all life's thesis, that you’ve cast aside | |
Insuring our victory from mighty death's harvesting clock of time | |
You’re breathing down the neck of all our selfish insecurities | |
Birthing the fate of the hate that’s been breeding all our perfect impurities | |
We're climbing, still climbing this mountain that you've set before us | |
We'll do whatever it takes not to make the mistakes, | |
but still this pressure’s killing us | |
We're picking up all the pieces, all life's thesis, that you’ve cast aside | |
Insuring our victory from mighty death's harvesting clock of time | |
Only time will tell if this hard life meant anything | |
We'll do whatever it takes not to make the mistakes, | |
but still this pressure's killing us | |
If all we have still isn’t good enough, then what’s left to give? | |
Breaking apart the nothing that’s become our only incentive | |
So mark our words and build our graves | |
You're the excuse for all of our mistakes | |
The very reason that we turned out this way | |
All the failure and all the heartache | |
Asking, pulling, taking all that’s left in our lives | |
The machine is tearing out our insides | |
So mark our words, and build our graves | |
You're the excuse for all of our mistakes | |
The very reason that we turned out this way | |
All the failure and all the heartache | |
So mark our words, and build our graves | |
You're the excuse for all of our mistakes |
We' re approaching the gloating | |
Of another dealer' s winning hand | |
The inspiring delusions | |
Living up to the dreams of modern man | |
And I swear we put our lives into everything, giving all we have | |
But we' re lacking the reaping, | |
slaughtering the weakest of society' s hard working calves | |
Trying to bring us down again | |
But we' re still having the times of our lives | |
What we' ve lost we' ll gain back again | |
The machine is tearing out our insides | |
repeat | |
We' re picking up all the pieces, all life' s thesis, that you' ve cast aside | |
Insuring our victory from mighty death' s harvesting clock of time | |
You' re breathing down the neck of all our selfish insecurities | |
Birthing the fate of the hate that' s been breeding all our perfect impurities | |
We' re climbing, still climbing this mountain that you' ve set before us | |
We' ll do whatever it takes not to make the mistakes, | |
but still this pressure' s killing us | |
We' re picking up all the pieces, all life' s thesis, that you' ve cast aside | |
Insuring our victory from mighty death' s harvesting clock of time | |
Only time will tell if this hard life meant anything | |
We' ll do whatever it takes not to make the mistakes, | |
but still this pressure' s killing us | |
If all we have still isn' t good enough, then what' s left to give? | |
Breaking apart the nothing that' s become our only incentive | |
So mark our words and build our graves | |
You' re the excuse for all of our mistakes | |
The very reason that we turned out this way | |
All the failure and all the heartache | |
Asking, pulling, taking all that' s left in our lives | |
The machine is tearing out our insides | |
So mark our words, and build our graves | |
You' re the excuse for all of our mistakes | |
The very reason that we turned out this way | |
All the failure and all the heartache | |
So mark our words, and build our graves | |
You' re the excuse for all of our mistakes |