Convenience. Lust, without a care -
Distractions from the cloaks we wear -
And all the dramas of the game;
The triumphs of conceit and fame.

We rarely stop, or pause to think,
Even as worlds begin to sink

But when the pleasure's come and gone
What then is left to wish upon?

Convenience. Lust, without a care.
Distractions from the cloaks we wear

And all the dramas of the game.
The triumph of conceit and fame.

We rarely stop, or pause to think,
Even as worlds begin to sink.

But when the pleasure's come and gone
What then is left to wish upon?

*past