The number haunts me,
I see it still.
On every clock,
and window sill.
Nothing is real,
on that we agree.
But if that is so,
who’s reality?
A series of bits,
into your brain.
If you take in too many,
they call you inane.
The number haunts me,
I see it still.
On every clock,
and window sill.
Nothing is real,
on that we agree.
But if that is so,
who’s reality?
A series of bits,
into your brain.
If you take in too many,
they call you inane.
We cheer with glee,
yet another won war.
Will it be endlessly,
the need to abhor?
Thousands lay dead,
forgotten just like us.
To them we all belong,
on the same big bus.
The only thing that changed,
was the look of our money.
Who we pay our taxes to,
so much it’s not funny.
We celebrate independence,
though don’t know its meaning.
The holiday is ironically needed,
never realizing it’s demeaning.
Instead of giving us freedom,
they give us the whole day off.
idecided for myself long ago,
that just simply wasn’t enough.
Freedom is losing track of the days,
because you’ve walked the walk.
The illusion of freedom is a 401K,
from someone who talked the talk.
The really good new is finally here,
information has come in last.
The key to being the you you want,
is learning to see but let go of the past.