Manufactured Life

Solitude, blissful, happiness we can't buy Attitude lacadescal, as we attempt to master a skill An emotion , A gift A scientist's potion without an hypothesis Mother nature never takes from the poor my friend But i cant seem to close the door to hell Maybe because i lack the intelligence It's all manufactured as sharp as a bevel edge Consumers cry out for something new to pull off the self Business men tamper with the known outcome we call tragedies I wonder why? But still we sell the truth and buy the lie As the Ashakic records reflect Atlantis once had it right A power from a crystal that once lit a whole city at night And that ancient wisdom is said to be buried under the Spinx The Father of Terror A King that still Reigns So to speak he still applies his trade