There is a feeling that comes over me, when I sit upon my wasting throne
A kind of nullifying sense I’m free, but I’m locked and fixed upon this dream.
And I know my fucking place, within the subject world
The image of deceit and every scream
The laughter that unfolds.
Is this some kind of fuckin tragedy? Am I the only fucking tool in use?
I’m plugged in and I can’t seem to find release, in this fucked up world
Do you know your fucking place? You seem to know where I belong.
So many years you’ve been displaced, while staying right there all along.
I need to fucking break.
Reevaluate the fucking lifeless as you contemplate a reasonable tactic, reaped and sowed
Common sense will perish and the world that you once cherished leaves no reason that must be keeping it in tow.
Is this some kind of fuckin tragedy? Am I the only fucking tool in use?
I’m fucked up and I’m used
I think I’ve found my fucking place, amongst the useless fools
I’ve figured out where we belong, and damnation seems the only ruse
Forfeit every reason you think holds you down and open your mind find the sound
Resonate on something else before it leaves you leaving for death.
There must be something outside these walls.
For my enemy, I feel empathy
For the common man I feel endless pain and
For my long lost sanity I feel overstated, and somewhere out of place
For the ending now, I feel something resembling the feeling of peace.
Its hard to recognize yourself, in this reflective piece
It’s hard to state how vital it is, to find release.
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