We're all waiting to die
Some of us just have more distractions than others

Nothing we see here is real
It's all filtered

First through our eyes
Reflected light
Sending signals to the brain
Where an image is produced

Then we must perceive it
All of the thoughts and feelings
From years of life
Decide the reaction to what is seen

Nothing is objective
We're our own propaganda machine
Extinguishing what hurts
Letting in what's clean

Yet
Some people are so sure
In what they see
And feel

They can tell you
Exactly how it should be
And what was once here
What is real

You see different than what I see?
Sinful? Wrong?
Broken? Incomplete?

Repeat after me
All that you see is
All that you see
And that's got nothing to do with me

We are young men buried in books
Shoveling words every day
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Ours minds drained deep in the pools
Of knowledge. So they say
We are young men buried in books.

We find ourselves caught in hooks
Of wisdom seekers shall we pray?
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Exhausted, some will turn into crooks
While we proudly remain grey
We are young men buried in books.

We bear fruit of hope from the roots
Of pain so follow the rules we lay
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Are we zombies in schools?
In our paths we never stray.
We are young men buried in books
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

You see him at a bar
And suddenly your hair
falls on your face.
You see him at a bar,
With another girl
And your heart starts to race.
You wonder how he replaced you
Like a red balloon
that escaped his fingers,
And floated over the buildings
And disappeared into the blue.

             *You wonder if he actually ever loved you.