Panic Room

Panic Room The game of the century Is running amok If mankind survives It will just be by luck The tree of knowledge Our freedom of choice Both a curse and a blessing In the awareness of life We have sold our hearts To the culture commercial Of unattainable adverts Feeding the need and living on greed As ego sucks on our insecurities We charge on a head Waving out bounteous flags Of progress Our cradle a dumping ground Our home an ashtray As we bury our conscience In our own mausoleum of boredom Hidden away in our panic room Padded with money Frantically seeking the very next meaning Addicted to the thrill of purpose And our own children Have no other answer other than this Or dogmatic confusions Which offer them bliss All constructed to deny the moment of death And life goes forgotten We live in a prison Fed by our need and living on greed Comfort and health Are now the province of wealth While the poor have to struggle To maintain bone, blood and muscle And until we see past our sea of possessions Their life spans of economies made for The wreckage and hollow shells Of our own no more use for We will remain mere “profit cells” For corporate materials Of industrial Pharmaceuticals Hiding away in the panic room Padded with money Frantically seeking the very next answer To a society which has no more purpose All constructed to deny the moment of death While life goes on forgotten We live in our own unsatisfied prison Fed by our need and living on greed