Heels For Ankles

I'm run down like the walls holding me back
These cages or boxes
Can't hold back the inner child I see coming forth,
So with hand prints at your ankles,
Hold on to dear life,
Because the dead will keep tugging onto your heels

Crowd begging for more,
Little do they know -
The shows been long over
Mirrors keep us screaming
After all is spilled, we short circuit
Malfunctioning is our only commitment in a new type of reality

I'm run down like the white padding
These boxes cannot contain my voice,
As these shadowless walls won't be my last purgatory,
The cynical men in black dresses don't understand
How persistent the dead can be when trying to recapture the livings soul
You can call it what you want,
But the depths of these nightmares won't bring back sanity