strange oxymorons that we are,
we’re all hurt and happy, right and wrong,
for creatures that need to be social,
we never seem to speak
we destroy as well as we dream
clinging onto this somewhere
between the end and the begin again.

it’s a lonely world
when every second you’re aware
and your search for answers
turns up only eyes tired with electronic glare
there’s no other choice
only together can we handle this pain,
and build a better version of this play pretend game