earth. given birth to its so called human species, spreading like wildfire, a contagious disease. but in fact what is it that we see? a vicious grass eating weed sprouting all around me. the kind which feeds on its siblings to grow overpowering its friends who helped it sow. a heartless weed craving for world domination. wanting nothing but power for its selfish satisfaction. But what, what is it really? an infectious virus coming out to get me. but who, who am i really? the odd one out so dont tread on me. its hypocricy crawls around roaming the land two faced, cowards that steal the upper hand. (upper hand) shining flash lights deep into our eyes blinding us with its manipulating lies. using us as stepping stones to climb its way to the top. we are the meek, naive hostages, tied in chains, we cant stop.

torn apart viciously ripped- our souls burn forever and it will flourish in its glory, will it fall? never. but take a look around u what do u see? all i gotta say is don't tread on me. and what, what is it really? an infectious virus coming out to get me. but who, who am i really? the odd one out so dont tread on me. after falling into the abyss, the losers hide in holes waiting for life to pass, so they can reconstruct their souls. the benevolent look up at it, where did they go wrong? but they didnt go wrong..(didnt go wrong) then it comes, (then it comes,) a sharp thorn hidden behind a lavish rose conveying a good heart but what i see, no one knows. it preaches morality, religion, trust, and loyalty fooling us all, making the practice appear a reality.

artificial hopes and dreams to capture us in our silent screams used and abused, then thrown as bait into the broken sea of civilization making us wait. watching us suffocate, struggle, and drown. calculating and coniving, it reaches for the crown. and what, what is it really? an infectious virus coming out to get me. but who, who am i really? the odd one out so dont tread on me. and when the sun sets, and the skies darken. the stars come out, shedding the truth on the forgotten. the prisoners of their own well-being, console and debate while the wicked lay their, slowly awaiting their inevitable fate. and what, what is it really? an infectious virus coming out to get me. but who, who am i really? the odd one out so dont tread on me. the odd one out so dont tread on me. dont tread on me...