Humungous pupils.
Little girl.
Attempting to realize the ways of the world.
Sinning and spinning,
  she twists and she twirls,
Through the tornado that fate seems to whirl.

So sure of herself,
  yet quite the mess.
Eager to learn and quickly progress.
She lays awake in constant distress,
  pondering humanity's stress to impress.

How on Earth are we all alive?
Buzzing around this big beehive.
Working for life then turning to dust.
Just for the honey, our bodies we bust.

Investing our trust in invented ideals.
Shunning away what's important and real.
What ever happened to "see, touch, and feel?"
We're worshipping paper, and mountians of steel.

Our slates were clean the day we were born.
From magazine pages, our knowledge was torn.
We were taught by Barbies and trucks to conform.
And we learned about love through movies and ****.

But imagine a life without fiction and wealth.
We'd all be forced to act as ourselves.
Without influence or image to compare and contrast,
  we'd have less confusion about how we should act.

A society raised on make believe.
Injected with ***, diamonds, and greed.
Living our lives on borrowed time,
  and filling the spaces with Marlboros and wine.
But then again, I'm just a girl,
  with humungous pupils in a made up world.