Dystopia
another day gone by
another thirty dead
until we rue the day
"what's exactly wrong with your head?"
please just psychoanalyze
till someone else is gone again
another one in purgatory
another scream to murmur
another fifty murdered
until we can somehow figure
what kind of bliss comes from this
our lives will be spent in belligerence
to the point we're making wagers in
any other lie in this reach for utopia
when do the screams stop
when do we stop dreaming?
i walk right into reality
sit in a seat to the corner
pull up a magazine
read somewhere between the lines
just another thirty dead
what's so wrong with us
what's so wrong with life
why would you want to take it?
why would you ever want to give the cynics any more reasons?
just another day in dystopia
i guess
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