Absurdity complex,
The melting distractions,
The value of poetry.

A man calls himself to tell himself he is confused,
And unsure why he is calling himself.

Someone is on a pedestal,
Another one is ground beneath the iron wheels of fate.

No one did anything wrong,
But we gasp and shake our heads at the news.

Except we all did something wrong,
And someone's gotta pay for it.

I guess I chose sin for myself,
But that doesn't make any sense.

I guess it's time to be uncertain.