---

Some have to see to believe it,
Others are blind yet,
Can feel it.
The flame burns thick,
As a wick.
Dwelling darkness inside,
Of the withering minds.

Is this the part,
Were we start our lives.

What a sight for the sore eyes?
It's getting colder in here,
It's sobering.
To see them,
Shuffle to the back of the line.
While they suffer in fear,
The mark that was made it so clear.

Quivering thoughts now surround you,
Engulfed by the tides that we undo.
The ties that hold shadows at bay,
Are bound and undone.
All but the one.

Here comes the part,
Were we start our lives.

What a sight for the sore eyes?
It's colder in here,
It's sobering.
To see them,
Shuffle to the back of the line.
While they suffer in fear,
The mark that was made it so clear.

(On the edge I stand,
Preparing to go but,
I feel Ive already been here.)

What a sight for the sore eyes?
(For the sore eyes.)
It's colder in here,
It's sobering.
To see them,
Shuffle to the back of the line.
While they march in with fear,
The marks that were made,
Are so clear.

So,
Why does nothing make us wanna try?
You're too close,
To look behind.
Just one touch,
You could change so much

(What a sight for the sore eyes?)

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