I used to stand for something enlightening that I might feel,
now I stand in fields waiting for lightning to peel
back my skin and make me real, or at least semi-real
or semi-charmed, but not that kind of life
in the song, you better believe that we'll
laugh about the new ordeal
and blast away the golden seal
that keeps us locked behind its waxy confinement
as we're sold into white rooms by consignment-
minded chemtrails in human shells,
thrown into wells to circumvent
the audacity of our red blood cells
to deny us their consent
to believe the hell
inside our eyes
or let us vent
some anger
with acidic
goodbyes.