How strange a tide… apathetic to its core.
Novichok in the system — we’ve already hit the floor.
Not without warning for the interested few.
Sure, indigo on the spectrum, but black in our view.
Our prophets are wary, lamenting for the lot.
The glass thicker than ever: they’re forced to watch them rot.
Let’s not dilute it over biscuits and tea.
We’re addicted to passion; it drains both you and me.
Quit cold turkey; we’ll wither and die within the week.
We blew past the sabbath; so muddle on and be meek.
Telephone the skies, but the network is full:
We put off the harvest — our calls all but null.
“Don’t think just breathe and wait for the pull of the plug.”
There’s a way, truth, and life; but deafness is the most popular drug.
Our water is muddy; the dolls’ overjoyed.
Reject all the falsehoods; their eyes shimmer from the void.
I’m here to remind you there’s more than you think.
Dead end paths are common; they want you to sink.
Exist behind ego and you’ll miss the horizon.
Perspective’s a gift if you’re looking to wisen.
Races aren’t games for an aspiring professional.
Throw out your excuses you don’t need a confessional.
There’s anguish in the conviction; you’ll be forced to commit.
But sleep-walking is pervasive; few actually submit.