These are only words and artificial tones were just skin and bones playing telephone with things that were probably never said at all this world is stitched with schemes where once there was reality its hard to reach across the unbelievable distances between what we really are and who we claim to be and the irony engine isnt lost on me the shame is that we saw it coming in the faces of the young among us on crayon and paper drawings the clearest writing on the wall we could ever ask for what do they believe? where are all their fathers? where are all their mothers? who left them there alone with a television remote like some philosophers stone figure it out on your own, child if I still have anything to say, Ill try to make it plain contrivance is a luxury I dont have in the time thats left before the madness overtakes me Im a voice among the voices the roar of whispers closes in the point seems to be pointless and Ive forgotten who I am...
Posted on: Fri, 12 Dec 2014 08:02:43 +0000
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