The mountain dust

("F*ck you, Stan* -
I'll run as fast as I can")

Pale sun over San-Junipero
Rises by the hour, as if it was on pay.
Another useless hero
Of the wasted clich;'s day.

("Doesn't matter what you do -
 Won't be what you want me to")

Like a mountain dust,
This all'd be washed down with the rust,
Gone with the morning wind
Chilly - and therefore deserves no trust.

("Truth to swallow may seem rough,
That's for sure: I've had enough")

Go rip the heart out of me,
Smash it on the bloodthirsty concrete for everyone to see,
Drink the mixed feelings cocktail till there's nothing left
Shut my inner screams up with the rationality ice-belt.

("But it still doesn't matter what you do -
 Won't be what you want me to")
 
Throw away the problems in the dazzling nagging void
Slit the hooting throats,
Whose creeping voices you try so hard to avoid.
Make up another fragile fairytale for the suckers to believe,
Wash away the conscience crimson stain right from your canvas sleeve.

(Flesh to the bones, it's oh so deep -
The ego wrath you wished to keep).

No way I'll visit that bloodstone** -
To mute the grey storm rays alone.

* - случайно выбранное для рифмы имя, как воплощение того, что пытается сломать и прогнуть.
** - "I don't want that bloodstone" (Judas priest)

* -как продолжение "The Blackout" и отказе лирического героя становиться удобным для того, кто видит в нем лишь сиюминутную выгоду.