Tipped to be the next one in line
Wandering through the aisles of insanity
Searching for something, anything, to stop feeling
Dreaming of the day when life will make sense
And be joyful, yea
In the line waiting with my boxes of slithy tove eggs and j’garblostok
Checking out rambling on about the ancient aliens
Ever into the conspiracy theories we dive
Deeper into the consciousness of everything being a symbol of something else
The computers all misbehave
Jabberwock on line two, calling for the sense of apocalyptica aesthetics
Renal shutdown impending
Draining the endless alcohol into the system and series of sleep deprivation
Unresolved days pile up by the dozens
Forgetting foxes dream of you in their daylight sleeps
Now is the time, here is the place
Make your stand
But on the outshot you take in, and conceive of your weaponry
Not spaceships, but an axe!
Wandering the streets
Silent in the metaphysical armor
Air travel to the side, you dream of things that cannot be
It’s not finished yet
Its pleasantries and attributes dull your hyperalertness
Yet, you do not see its values or its sting
Clamping the tubes to see if they pop
The warriors surround you with their bombs
Feeling all uncertain of the psychosis
The people will not believe in your outlandish dreams
Yet, you still, as they say, went about your otherworldly business

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