There is nothing left for you in this world,
Not going forward, but moving in the same old mazes,
You can't see past your banner unfurled,
It's covering your eyes, igniting these crazes
Will one never be enough for this monstrous greed?
I continue to tear past these nets of tin,
Not really trying to destroy all that I have,
But this is all that I know, this demonic din,
Wish I could shake it off, and just laugh,
Not have to become one of your content creed.
I have kept my pearls from before the swine,
But their chain of dreams is rusting between my fingers,
Would I replace it with your own, homely twine,
I would have to surrender, bow down, lose, and linger
And all would be for naught.
I feel this coursing of passion through my very blood
But I am too weak; I cannot reach that final note
My aria is to be unfinished, washed out in the flood
That these emotions have forged; "That's all she wrote,"
With worry, I am fraught.
I want to let go of my delusional curse
And bask in your artificial ambiance
But to be blind or to be deaf; which is worse?
Can I find peace in a mind of science?
Does my suffering have any merit?
So I steadily press forward, while you steadily press on,
At least one of us is happy in this sick charade,
I, ever the bishop; you, ever the pawn,
Is this why we are? Why I am so afraid?
This terrible burden; at least you can share it.