Insane Creations

The game commends the shadow of gloom As it hangs above our quickening doom Pass the pill that empties our sight Receive the cure, repeating this life Our dreams unchained, forgotten too fast Awake to run, asleep to restart Define this world, we beg of our screens To spill the word, as the truth goes unseen Spread the gold, as money is real To work and pray for all we can’t feel The hanging man caressing his noose His tie in hand; his money his muse Mechanically the shadow now breeds Within our hearts, spilling disease Now those we love can’t stand to touch The loneliness that has become our crutch This game hand-made by fear and betrayal Gone on so long, that it now seems too real But a world so dark tempts reason to rise There is a light telling us we’re alive It’s just a game, none of it truth Without dead will, the machine can not move It’s only real as our conscious sedates It’s only pain, it’s only us and what we create