Illusions

Prisons are made of organized interactions

Just like us humans living in segregation

Moving in an organized motion

But I’m a daydreamer I tend to escape the illusion

Illusion of material but believing in heaven  

Living in contradicting beliefs of our origin

I’m a creator of my own imagination

And so I contemplate this school prison

Having my time scheduled in a system

System based on half truth

Taking my imagination for a better world

And rating it in marks so I can be a better slave

To this illusion of currency that is concave

Based on either you take it or continue with the phase

Phase of poverty that was placed

By the people of a hierarchy implementing rage

Against the people of our own age

The age of non-materialistic happiness has been taken away

And so our belief have been made into physical evidence of facts

Now tell me in this reality, do our dreams still relate?

Cause they’re not physical but still form an experience

An experience of nothing else but happiness

Because we die in them then live again in this presence