It's been said that happiness is just a chemical equation,
so if Socrates says it's it golden, are you calling his assertions fallacious?
Our youth has let adulthood clip our wings and force us into burning light
from the sheltered, softened world where our innocence used to hide.
Age brings darkness. It sneaks in slowly, stealing bliss, sinister serpent,
we let him replace our carelessness with solemn seriousness and self-observance.
Sunshine became an energy source, a burning star, and nothing more.
The tides, the mountains, the freckles on your chest hold no mysteries anymore,
because we know what they are. We're smart - we finally know better.
We have broken beauty and enchantment into particles of matter.

We're much too old and smart now to fall for nature's silly tricks.
For each secret hidden deep in the world, we build a tool to **** it with.

We've explained away the smiles and laughter
and we've beaten meaning out of every chapter
of every book that ever made us wonder.
We murdered innocence, a sordid blunder.
Because we have to know. We crave a meaning, a purpose, something solid,
and so for centuries we've dug our way down, and soon we'll reach the bottom.
I mean, do you really want to hear that everything is nothing?
What will you gain when you demand that nature stops her bluffing
and see the clearest truth about existence as we know it?
When you've solved the final mystery, what will you have to show for it?
We, the clumsy people, are emptying the world of all its luster.
We have polished and picked at our precious, gleaming life until it rusted.
We, in our greed and hunger,
have spoiled the secrets of the wonder
we were trusted with, whether by divinity or blind ******* luck.
We behold beauty, bursting forth with bold abandon, but only question it's chemical makeup.