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
Copyright © Timothy Jacks | Year Posted 2016
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