Follow.

Check your heart at the door, you won't need it where we're going.

Dark laughter drifts like smoke as the fire paints your mind in black.

You're alone, can't you see that? They don't want your beating heart

Unless it's on a tray that they can study from a distance.

Oh yes, they'll say, in their frigid, apathetic tone,

Disaster's on its way, and there's nothing you can do.

Pretty words oozing from a heart you hold at arm's length

Will only feed the flames that are lapping at your feet.

Oh no, they'll say, but it doesn't sound sincere,

What a shame that the world that chewed and spat you out

Is getting stomped on by the people who cooly meet your eyes

And tell you there'll be nothing left to laugh at or to cry.

And all the while the power's being blindly tossed about,

While screaming matches hurl the blame as if it's burning like the sky.

And ever cool, calculating, the clocks are ticking down.

And the faceless somebody's are counting down with them.

Five.

They'll take all your fear, what courage you're keeping

And throw it in a melting pot with what sense you might be holding onto.

Here, have some stimulus. You like that? Keep going.

That's right, let your thoughts slip away with the rest.

Four.

You're running out of time, they're telling you.

Shouldn't you be doing something? Not sitting rotting above the ground.

They're yelling at you, and your heart's beating faster,

But you can't feel it, someone's guarding it closely.

Three.

What are you counting to, again? It's been a long time since you started.

The clocks should know, they've gone on forever. They're whispering to you to find what you lost.

That's right - that heart, that strange, foreign object, the one they dissected and told you was useless.

Somehow you miss it, though you're not quite sure why. Your mind is begging to go back to sleep.

Two.

It's broken in pieces when you find it again, and it hurts to put it up to your chest.

All that screaming is awfully loud, and it seems to be pointless if you listen to the words.

Maybe it was better when your heart was on a tray, when you couldn't see the flames that were crawling up your legs.

But now you remember why the clocks were ticking, waiting for the day the heart would return.

One.

I'm afraid we've reached the end now, the clocks have all gone silent.

The heart is crying, oozing words that no one wants to hear.

Maybe a solitary heart can pull this mess together.

Certainly it can try before all is dead and lost.

Find the other hearts out there, I believe that you can do it.

Whisper in the frozen air, it's not too late if we just try.

Whisper in the faceless masses that we can live and breathe together.

But who can hear a whisper, really? Among the shouts and ticking clocks.