MyChildren MyBride - The Machinist Lyrics
MyChildren MyBride - The Machinist Lyrics
We're approaching the gloating of another dealers 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 societies hard working calves. Trying to bring us down again, but we're still having the times of our life. What we've lost we'll gain back again. The machine is tearing out our insides. (repeated) We're picking up all the pieces, all life's thesis, that you've cast aside. Ensuring 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 to not 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. Ensuring our victory from mighty death's harvesting clock of time. And only time will tell if this hand 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 (still) 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.
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We're approaching the gloating of another dealers 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 societies hard working calves. Trying to bring us down again, but we're still having the times of our life. What we've lost we'll gain back again. The machine is tearing out our insides. (repeated) We're picking up all the pieces, all life's thesis, that you've cast aside. Ensuring 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 to not 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. Ensuring our victory from mighty death's harvesting clock of time. And only time will tell if this hand 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 (still) 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.