Is life controlled by the media that encourages communism?
Or should we just paint one’s life, with a brush of surrealism?
Who is right, who is wrong?
How can one truly mime, life’s unfinished poetic song
Making up as we go, our very own crude sort of rules
To experience one’s life, by kicking ***, like stubborn mules
Thinking that only thee and not we, are so very cool
Picking what we think is the best and only chosen tool
One day though, we will all be left so far behind
When, we realise, that one’s life should’ve been more kind
We say, only if we could’ve stopped, to seek and find
To see there’s only one way for all of mankind
That is to close one’s envious mind, as if we were blind.