I'm busy busy busy
I'm late I'm late I'm late
I've got to meet a rabbit
I've got to meet my fate

For if you trip and stumble
And take a long long fall
You might take some comfort
In the writing on the wall

It says the cakes a lie!
The roses never were red!
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
The last words that they said

There's no time for fantasy
The world's out of hand
Visit Alice another time
Curse that wonderland

We're living in the matrix
Dot dash, dot dot dot dash
We just have to accept it
As we wait for it to crash

One foot in and one foot out
Abstractify, you lazy lout
Yes, I'm sure reality's an illusion
But I can't afford to live in confusion

What if i just packed my bags and ran away,
never showed up through the light of day,
This life seems like a paradox we live throughout our own thoguhts,
this world, the touch, the love we see and feel, is it even all real?
One day when i lay through my flower bed,
am i in a matrix of never ending dreams, from horror and love to all things that seem real when i lay my head to sleep?
Dreams are recurring but so is this life, so tell me this now
are we in a dream when we open our eyes, or do we just dream when we close our eyes?
I want to feel love, no pain but pleasure,
I want to seek something more high of a real temptation to live in this world,
but when you're trapped with just your fantasied thoughts,
how can we truly know when to stop?

Midnight at the Matrix.
Only in poetry music, ***.
Sometimes there's a way out.

And a dreamland in the inbetween.
Seeing things you haven't seen.
But there are some boundaries.

There are little worlds behind them.
You can see them but you can't go there yet.
And creatures walking around you ignoring you.
This world is not yet yours.

Midnight at the matrix.
Trying to get ready to relax.
Finishing your last phone call.

You both broke down on the other side of the line.
Both vacuum ****** and you can't get through the end of the bowl.
Cause there's no end at all.
No end in a vacuum bowl.

Still not completely ****** in the same way.
But soon you'll be ****** together in the same old bowl.
One of you just came out of war, the other out of hell.
Not much difference, still a world of a difference.

One is still and the other always ill.
Cause being ****** in a bowl where everything is too much makes you never relax...
Being ****** in a bowl after a war is a calm in the eye of a storm.
An eye of glass....

Midnight at the Matrix.
Only in poetry music, ***.
Sometimes there's a way out.

Abstract illustration,
for likened is neither
                       words or form.

Were just memories,
                    silhouettes
of then and before, afterimages..

Thinking were real, but were diodes
of light fixed re-watched...
observed a thousand times..

We never realise that we weren't here,
                just a replayed moment...

Look behind you,
        to late..

             were not really here..


"Just a moment being rerun,
                   did you hear me when

I said that, yes that's me not you..
don't worry, just sleep. Shhhhh….

Everything will be fine in the morning...