this condition, the violatile instincts this curse, a burden we bare for all the moments we love and all the battles we wage the atavistic traits, our frail comdemned psyche convicts of virtue and convicts of vice convicts of death and the convicts of life convicts of darkness and convicts of light convicts of peace and the convicts of strife above the logic we see above the matters we are the remnants the ghosts in the machine above the logic we are above the matters we'll be the remnants the ghosts in the machine this attrition, the verdict we're given this curse, the affliction we need for all the moments we love and all the battles we wage the atavistic traits, our frail comdemned psyche