Tekster: Poison The Well. Obstacle.

As the weakend. Attempt to stand. The cold wind of progression. Causes their downfall.
Taken what was theirs. Now you call it yours. Your thievery justified.
By legislation and might. The control of majority. Never ceases to overpower.
The wounded and unfortunate. Left for dead without a second thought.
[chorus]
looking deep into a mirror. The image frightens you.
What you've become. Your own obstacle. The burden placed. On your shoulders.
Causes guilt to flow. Through a once deadend soul. Which took so much. From so many others.
One choice is left. To take from yourself. What they worked. So hard to achieve.
Taken by your hand of disdain.
[chorus]
And as you realize. That the mirror doesn't lie.
And the self you imagined. Is yet another fantasy. And as realization takes it's toll.
A cold feeling overwhelms you. And you've become. Your own obstacle.