Who Knows All Knows Nothing
They sit there on the top of the mountain
Yelling, screaming,
Cursing at the sky in the midst of the sun
Standing tall; why hasn't the wind blown them
down?
They say,
"Why the haze?
"Why?
"What are we supposed to do with this?
when there's truly nothing else.
If the sky were to fall
and crush the world on our shoulders, this day
we would have nothing to yell at anymore.
We'd look among ourselves
and realize what we'd truly lost.
The sky looks at us and carries on as it does,
as we plead our way to defeat;
as we throw at it bombs,
stones, bullets
tears
waiting for it to leave, so that a flawless nothing
can come along.
Somewhere along the line they'll stop,
and with this sound,
isn't reality the most luxurious prison known to man?
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