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Don’t pass Go and don’t collect two hundred Societal standards keep us encumbered Put these shoes on and try to walk a mile I’ll be here waiting, disguising my guile To open your eyes and empathize To live the life of another The greatest gift of humanity Leaves a soul to wonder When the night falls, when the street lights go out The curse of the romantic is always the mind When the wind picks up, screaming its shouts Contemplating secrets he never thought to find Beginning to end, end to beginning Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Playing on words, if the chicken laid the egg The end to beginning, metaphorically speaking Rambling on, a generation at a screen The romantic left wondering at a timeless wonder Opening your eyes, but closing them to dream Leaving the rest for the poorest to ponder Incapable of empathy, desensitized to fear The literal end is always so near Listening, watching, a self sentenced pledge I watch the lemmings step up to the ledge Sheep to slaughter, minds of fodder Couples dancing, funerals entrancing Services held, services dealt Always wondering, wondering whats felt Tears appear in the corners of eyes Nothing left to use for disguise Nothing but emotion left to bare true witness The meaningless words of a false forgiveness When being yourself is creating yourself, what is left to see? The strangulation of freedom, an oxymoronic irony.
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Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
An Oxymoronic Irony
Don’t pass Go and don’t collect two hundred Societal standards keep us encumbered Put these shoes on and try to walk a mile I’ll be here waiting, disguising my guile To open your eyes and empathize To live the life of another The greatest gift of humanity Leaves a soul to wonder When the night falls, when the street lights go out The curse of the romantic is always the mind When the wind picks up, screaming its shouts Contemplating secrets he never thought to find Beginning to end, end to beginning Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Playing on words, if the chicken laid the egg The end to beginning, metaphorically speaking Rambling on, a generation at a screen The romantic left wondering at a timeless wonder Opening your eyes, but closing them to dream Leaving the rest for the poorest to ponder Incapable of empathy, desensitized to fear The literal end is always so near Listening, watching, a self sentenced pledge I watch the lemmings step up to the ledge Sheep to slaughter, minds of fodder Couples dancing, funerals entrancing Services held, services dealt Always wondering, wondering whats felt Tears appear in the corners of eyes Nothing left to use for disguise Nothing but emotion left to bare true witness The meaningless words of a false forgiveness When being yourself is creating yourself, what is left to see? The strangulation of freedom, an oxymoronic irony.
alex-carpenter
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Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
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