Quicksand

The sands of time have a grip on this dimensional dementia
Reality and fantasy intertwine to confuse me just a little more
Gnashing my teeth from this lifetime of dis(ease)
When will I become alive again?
Why must I dwell within this death?
The flesh bound me to this world
This hasty, angry, attention seeking delusion
Are we all angels that have fallen
To this gravity
To this insanity
To this monster of ego and depravity
The sands of time are more like quicksand
Pulling harder the more you struggle
Filling our mouths, making us muffled
There is nothing that has not yet been said
Stalled evolution because we are already dead
here...
Separated by space and time we dwell
Trying to conquer the demons
Of our own personal hell
Just relax and ride the days I am told
Take in this experience 
Breath after breath
Toll after toll
The more I walk this plane, I believe
Priorities are bound and taxed by the king
Freedom never really felt right
When it all is a lie just to keep us quiet
Charged by crimes never conceived
Ignited by passions with lust they breed
Pregnancy calling forth another angel of the fallen
To these nations of prisons
These cultures of common
An incarcerated planet
Atmosphere of bars
Limitations and boundaries
Have all become our scars