The itch we yearn to scratch
Keeps moving down our backs,
Attempting to escape into reality,
We hack, our way out of it.
Held hostage by a throbbing mind,
We pretend we don’t
We just body.
As the heart bleeds.
The ancient creeds get buried by
Human jobbings or
Each season gives us the perfect reason
to think the ship’s moving in circles,
Meanwhile the spectrum’s nearing purple.
Modern discomfort’s giving me the blues,
When it’s time to wake up,
Will you hit snooze?