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It’s nothing more than an ingenious lie,
This life that we’re supposedly “living”.
The mortal clock ticks by as we languish.
Time alone proves that the world seems to age.
And of whosever’s eyes seem to watch us,
We exist for their mere entertainment.
Puppets on strings, monkeys clanging symbols.
Even when we plead for their approval,
Their words still leave us hallow and empty.
When we ache, we cry, or we are depressed,
They fill us with pills and tell us we’re nuts.
And as they all say, “The show must go on”
And by whatever means necessary.
We dance upon this godforsaken stage-
This big ball of dirt, this planet called earth
In rash hopes to accomplish “everything”,
When really, we accomplish so little.
This miraculous lie, this thing called life,
Has yet to even be experienced.
And will stay so ‘til one can call it truth.
For now, it’s merely here in our small heads-
A false reality of what is real.
So who will bow down, and who will give in,
And make this false world true reality?