Smoking Cigs while listening to post-punk.
What a way to die.
Sipping poisonous punch, staring at neon stars,
observing couples symblozing the synths
Did I accept or reject the lie
Honeslty I am not sure
My purpose was glory, my legacy was divine
But I threw it all away with a smirking sigh
The destination was deceitful
and now I'm stuck, aching for a return to sanity
But no matter how hard I try
I hear the same sounds, the same ideas, the same sins
begging me to triumph in brokenness
to resist every potent, captivating urge to fly.
What is it that people seek
when they pay for myths
and ask what and how and who but not why.
Why not use the night as a canvas of intellectual royalty
sparking thoughts that electrify creations that could rival those of God's
Instead, I wait and rapidly reuse, take and blindly buy.
Investing my immortal soul in temporal temptations
But Its late... most definitely tomorrow I will begin afresh.
If only I could see through my lie.