It's best this mess is part of the plan the truth is moving under the ground you're sure the steering wheel is resting in your hands tough to say you think success belongs to the bank you take directions into the skin an ancient motor revving up to keep it living on strings tied to the hands hands upon a mouth sneaky ways the path is written before the act a mode of growing seems like a choice it feels like progress is a product of a hidden game what obeys you measure hits by stuff in the house it's more sincerely smiles on the face the instinct leads you if you do or if you don't want tackle on a neck trapped within the ring tough to say what obeys sneaky ways sneaky ways