Aesthetics - The Outline

Furnished in fur and afraid of your father

You’ve choked out the air, burned up the water

Your sin is yourself, a slave to your youth

Too caught up in deceit to come close to a truth

Infinitely infantile, but ultimately worth each and every while

Why do dreams dissipate upon waking, before we’re able enough to intake them

Something is missing

Leave me, let me be, what’s dead is free

We froze in frozen time

It all ends now