Chickens with our heads cut off we are our parents children.
Lost boys and girls don't understand murmurs from those before them
Nonexistent words of warning


Always falling into the potholes their predecessors heels dug out.
Stumbling over obstacles haphazardly left behind.
There's a light, but how can we see it if we were born blind

Painted pictures line the walls of our minds, corroded and mildewing on the edges
Obsolete to the circumstance in which we stand.
All arrows pointed down a dead end street.

Caught in a time loop till we peel back our eyes
Leaning how to see something other then what we choose