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?