Welcome to the noble life, the middle way
free of anguish and suffering,
loosening your grasps upon desire,
releasing your mind and soul from defilement
along this noble path.
The relationship between you and I
we are one
with all of this experience known as life
a pattern weaving its way through and amongst
other patterns and processes
the deeper we go
we only see more patterns
welcome to the noble life, the middle way.
please, enjoy your stay.

Faceless books relive life as pseudo-abbreviated scribes
the tip tapping of helvetica lies reporting banal times
falsified laughter coughed up between every three lines

Faceless books wasting precious time
gathering the masses for the fanfare of a couple of guys
and gals.

Crippled by conformity to fit within cyber-society for cyber-friends and cyber-lives, virtually living a virtual life without virtually living in the first place.

Posing pursed lips and filming grainy video clips
one-liners of the wall signers pretending to pretend to care to come off as they actually pretend to care to begin with.

Two hundred and plus empty entities and counting, the next person met can subscribe to my life now.

An ordinary soul encompassed in extraordinary expectations.
Social pressure manifesting itself into anxiety and doubt.
A mechanical mess of cogs and wheels churning out endless streams of mental clout.

Be what I will and do as I may is what I say.
But they say:
Be what we will and do as I do, this is the proper way.
Try not reform or perform to conform is what I say.
But they say:
Follow me through this hollow tree and you will see what I want you to be, this is the proper way

An ordinary soul encompassed in extraordinary expectations,
passed down through electric, media driven sensations of transient satisfaction,
a mechanical mess of wound up plastic toy soldiers marching in circles with rubber souls pointing death dealing cylinders at each others backs.

Be yourself for everyone else is what I say.
But they say:
Be everyone, or else.
Try for progression's sake, be genuine and certainly not fake is what I say
But they say:
Try for regression's sake, be fake and certainly not genuine, this is the proper way.

An ordinary soul encompassed in extraordinary expectations,
disgusted with modern tribulation, choosing self-selected conscious liberation.
A singular, personal declaration toward evolution.
A natural mess of vines and roots reaching below and above producing boundless rivers of truth and love.
This is revolution.

Be one amongst many is what I say.
But they say
Be us. This is the proper way.

Be you, is what I say. This is the proper way.

Paratroopers free fall,
'chutes coiled and caught in a grease ball afro curl
reaching down perplexed ****** frames.
Diligent chortling mimes trapped in handmade indecision cages, tapping a telling tune of tired games played day after day.
A right brained boy with a head full of clout
miscommunication with a leftist expat from the north
to the south.
Jostled connections send out fizzling sentences
through blown speakers and an overheated circuit -
Bored of the excuses whispers the nameless
without a reason there isn't a purpose.
Shoot an accusing glare past Father Time
overlooking treasonous discouraging crimes
Open those whale blubber caked eyes
to the other side.
It's not what this has done to you
but what this has done to us.
The hitchhiker gave up, traded his thumb for a seat on the bus.
Never was he lost, but given more than one chance.
He, no, she, no we
were thrown away with his walking stick and his waterproof nap sack.
Will we cross this road again?
And pick up from where we began?
Or never turn back?
Always was he lost, but given one too many of a chance
But was it worth it?
Upholding the "right and proper" stance?

You're under this notion,
fueled by the flashing colored screen.
What you think you need,
what you know you need.
They've got it so right, they've got it oh so right
Living life like we're under the spotlight

Lights, camera, action
we follow the rhythm
believe the system
oblivious to the secret faction,
solely conceived as a distraction.

Impressionable we were,
deeply displaced,
Young eyes glaring into space,
we become what our imaginations trace.
Outlines of the human race,
told by the man behind the box
without a human face.

New watch, new ring, brand new play-thing
it's all you need,
they burn the fuel to your greed.
impregnating our every last thought,
only concerned with what, when and how-
much, we've already bought.

Remove the glim and glam of their cerebral spam.
the pursuit of happiness isn't in your wallet or your T.V. screen,
they'll only tell you it's how you're supposed to be seen.
Deceitfully robbing us of our imaginations, confining us to
their own limitations.
Overthrow their control and shut off your televisions.

Standardized empty circles,
pencil in each blank completely,
tell us your story in less than 12 rows.
As the graphite sank beneath
cold dead paper stained with a broken biography.

Where's my face?
Where's my soul?
Where's my identity?
Am I just a number?
A blank filled in?
Not enough room to describe
so I subscribe to "other".