They Tell ME

Uncommon inspiration falters and falls through our minds,
Like a star fallen from the sky and swept by the wind.
We hold tightly to the struggles of modern-day insanity,
Impatiently pleading our life to one day begin.

A sweet grasp on mediocrity, we clutch by our side,
A rope of hypocrisy, tied 'round, to noose our necks,
Yet, somehow, in a futuristic, Shakespearean tragedy,
We laugh as society inches along into the wreckage.

Slow, slow. It's a meticulous torture,
the blood bath of psychological war.
They'll make wax models of us in museums some day,
Tell me, kind friend, would you pay for a tour?

As the damage soon conspires to our end,
Making cookies to ward off death and fend-
For our lives, or for our treacheries?
For our lies, or for our legacies?
And the common-day soon becomes nothing..

Middle-aged hopes sift through a levy,
And key-note spellers inform us precisely to a tee
How the music should be sounded.. like "this."
Can we be anymore confounded than this!?

Can we be any more doomed than a calf at the slaughter,
to be religiously sacrificed for the sake of humanity?
For the sake of one's innermost frivolous sanity?
Oh, we are by far worse off than this..

Struggles up high on a pew, on the soap-box,
Delivering the plaintiff our grievances enlisted.
Forevermore, the sweet Lenore..we are tight-fisted,
and in patriotic unity we mourn the loss of our individuality;
In blue-collar, white-collar tragedy, we forsake our creativity.

Desperation for the lacking affections,
straying away from the dearest fighting constellations.
Keep in close hand, a locket for our lover,
And in the other, a dagger for our brother?

Say it to me now, and I would never be foretold again,
How the world and all its pleasures come close to an end.