The Lines in My Hand

We are dying in the wake of gods and decrees remain arcane And everything around us is a consequence of pain The writings on the wall depict a truth that no one reads A government of puppets blinded by another creed Burning voice of insanity Nothing is the same Barren lands for the idle man Find all the lines in your hand Blinding storms are surrounding us Take control In our cups, poisoned wine Find all the lines in your hands