Out of Sync

Took a hammer to all things, looking for that still small voice inside, now there's pieces more than sand, and all that we've done is added to the noise. progress has left ghosts of our bones. we aimlessly walk. the writing on the wall is useless. we hold mirrors to what suits us. opinions abound, with deafening sound, shut up. you speak riddles. try to stitch the tongues back in, once they're loosened. left to sing to ourselves. thistles and thorns, i'm cut off, choked from the world, we understand little now. progress has left ghosts of our bones. we aimlessly walk. you're cut up, but you can find no endings. reasons lead you to beginnings. through chattering rooms like a perfume, your voice. i speak riddles