"Animate" lyrics
The narrow road is all I know
No map to guide us
No compass beside us
The narrow road
The great unknown
The grater sacrifice grants the greatest gift in life
No more assembly lines of aspirations connecting carbon copy clones
Every artifact is marching like commodities of flesh and bone
The consistency of our censored thoughts
Tread a static course
Ordinary people: your outlook is lethal
Chiseling away imperfections
Until rough edges are same and smooth
The tools have now become too blunt
To break any of the rules
Post-modern minds bleached blank and clean
Drawing pixelated lines
In duller shades that my eyes have ever seen
The narrow road is all I know
No map to guide us
No compass beside us
The narrow road
The great unknown
The grater sacrifice grants the greatest gift in life
No more assembly lines of aspirations connecting carbon copy clones
Every artifact is marching like commodities of flesh and bone
Post-modern minds bleached blank and clean
Drawing pixelated lines
In duller shades that my eyes have ever seen
We're not defined by a blueprint if we re-write the plans
So will you paint paradise with the stroke of an artist's hand?
No map to guide us
No compass beside us
The narrow road
The great unknown
The grater sacrifice grants the greatest gift in life
No more assembly lines of aspirations connecting carbon copy clones
Every artifact is marching like commodities of flesh and bone
The consistency of our censored thoughts
Tread a static course
Ordinary people: your outlook is lethal
Chiseling away imperfections
Until rough edges are same and smooth
The tools have now become too blunt
To break any of the rules
Post-modern minds bleached blank and clean
Drawing pixelated lines
In duller shades that my eyes have ever seen
The narrow road is all I know
No map to guide us
No compass beside us
The narrow road
The great unknown
The grater sacrifice grants the greatest gift in life
No more assembly lines of aspirations connecting carbon copy clones
Every artifact is marching like commodities of flesh and bone
Post-modern minds bleached blank and clean
Drawing pixelated lines
In duller shades that my eyes have ever seen
We're not defined by a blueprint if we re-write the plans
So will you paint paradise with the stroke of an artist's hand?
Writer(s): Jonathon Francis Deiley, Marcus Charles Jacques Bridge, Joshua Adam Smith, William Putney
