Wishing the worst to fall is an illusion,
Fantasy is a demon that robs us of reality,
Sentiments of golden desires,
Smokes of merciless trends,
We are truly close yet far from the light.
We absorb the heat of trending sarcasm,
Hoping to chow and chew our nightmares with silly pretenses,
We cultivate cultures of undesirable textures,
Yet we forget to build a home for our lonely souls,
We were close but we ain't nearer to the revelation either.
Spitting our images with thick lips of slander,
We have internalized the bible of self-defeat,
We have cast chains of shattered dreams on our lovely chairs,
We have simplified the jokes of warfare with smooth connotations,
Yes, we have purified our impurities with filthy waters.
We struggle to manifest the glossy skins of our pride,
Because mighty waters of imitation have captured our heartbeat,
Slowly we beat the bush without a push to knowing the truth,
We have dressed ourselves with charismatic garments of withered silk,
We have gone aloof from the images of ourselves.
Colors of colorless stars victimize our orchards,
No rain seems to be willing to kiss our vineyards,
No beard wants to grow on our ambitious chins,
We are the cause of the fall of our own integrity,
We're also the answer to the questions of slavery harassing our breaths.