• Words are paper roses and magazine cover skies
    Hopeful dreams fail to converse with endless lies
    Open up your designer hearts, paint your life story
    The miseries, the hopes, the prevailing glory
    That artistic dream you attempt to contain
    Continuously missing yourself, going insane
    With this ink-stained paper and blood-filled pen
    Write what you should have done back then
    When words had meaningful messages
    And the past was filled with apocalyptic presages
    With the screams and predictions
    With crazed imagery and self inflictions
    Of the so-called wise in their desperate attempts
    And the so-called smart we ignore with contempt
    So is the meaning of our cycled evolution
    There are endless questions, but no solutions
    Why are we here, in this oxygenated land?
    Why are our thoughts so shallow and bland?
    We think we know the answer; One can only hope
    Admit it; We’re helpless, we need to cope
    With the fact that nature’s right, we’re wrong
    Perhaps this world isn’t where we belong
    Our lives disappear in the blink of an eye
    So incredibly quick; We can’t even say goodbye
    Does the world really want us to be gone
    To the point of extermination it’s drawn?
    Our lives; The endless riddle
    Our importance; So very little
    Now words are paper roses and magazine cover skies
    Hopeful dreams fail to converse with our endless lies
    Open up your designer hearts, listen to its truth
    That you failed to understand in your youth
    That is so close, yet seemed so far away
    As our life slips further and further in decay
    Now we sit here, waiting for our expiration date
    Trying to find the answer to the riddle, but it’s too late