Technology wasted on greed and vanity,
Immersed in the web of a fictional reality,
A window to a soul that doesn't exist,
Verbal onslaughts now more powerful than fists,
Modern communications are eerily silent,
Tip, tap, tip tap, can topple a tyrant,
Tunnel vision fixated on the glowing rectangles,
Blue light so bright the mind it mangles,
Hunting for the red hearts of communal acceptane,
If not enough is found on comes a flood of repentance.

Life slipping like sand between ones fingers,
In the internal darkness one's screams linger,
Nobody can see the emotional demise,
As the eternal wait for the end never arrives,
No mind can know what another is dreaming,
No mind can know what the other truly believes in,
A civil war of ideals and personality,
Bringing in to question ones absolute sanity,
Free-falling down a bottomless pit,
No reason; no purpose; no excuse to exist.

Unintentionally the last man to be noticed,
"Who's next?" Everyone in the place is!
No customer relations.

Glut of purple cider drinkers,
Crammed in like sardines,
A ghost town after the final bell rings.

No entry without your adult pass,
Gardens with no grass,
That's if your lucky.

Otherwise, its street smoking with the beggars,
Have to separate from the cylinders of golden nectar,
There's not even an umbrella.

Mr. Ray's oppressive,

Hot-headed and aggressive,

Turning white to tan,

His attendance isn't to plan,

Beating down on people,

We hope tomorrow is a sequel.

A head of ruptured bubbles,

A body made of glass,

A constant cold sweat,

A potion filled with laughs,

A history richer than most,

A varied version of times gone past.

Grey man with a grey face,

Living life at a fast pace,

Rammed in like a multicultured paste,

Next to no breathing space,

Enter and exit with a pompous haste,

Leaving the underworld is step-by-step race,

Each contestant on the credit chase.