How do we know that blue is blue?
Or that these words rhyme or are even true?
Why do we believe what we’re told.
We question things, but never try to change them and do the untold.
Who decided what’s pretty and why did we listen.
This world is wicked and cruel,
and I don’t understand what were supposed to do.
What’s the point of life and who got to decide.
I want to write my own story, but don’t know how to even find mine.
I question everything like; what if blues orange.
What would we do, we can’t change it now.
And would we even want to
Words are a figment of our creation only held back by our minds.
We create what we are, and we live on our own line.
Blues blue, because we said so and no one else was there to correct us.
So till someone changes up the rules, I guess that’s all we can do.
Just believe in what we think is true.
So for now blue will stay blue.