We come to you with bright shiny faces
and wounds still fresh from the womb,
grabbing at anything cool.
We pretend to be naked and drink from the fountain of delusion.
The fountain of truth is too cold to swallow.
The castle gates of benevolence have been opened,
and with hedonistic indoctrination
we crash into the streets
in search of instantaneous wine and blind absolution.
We bathe in drive-through lust.
We crave the warmth of a cold pillow.
We dine on theoretic chaos
and pay with inherited coin.
We caress the blade of uncertainty with our tongues.
We adore our futile reflection in mirrors.
We scoff at inevitability.
We will always be hungry.
We will always want a better place to play.