O what fools we have come to be!
More foolish than we’ve ever been,
perhaps, more foolish than we can ever be,
spinning into the night, so blindly.
We rally against crime on the streets
whilst we breed it in our heads & sheets.
Running scared of the devil, trying to out run him, all our lives,
we fail to see, in our fright, it’s our chasing shadows that eat light.
Love playing detective, our species does,
as we try to solve the mysteries of what becomes
of our own loathsome selves with everyday that we cower
behind the masks of normality as if that’s a reality, ours.
Normal is an illusion, nothing is ever normal…
think about it, think of what passes as normal;
deaths of countless soldiers blown to bits is normal
but the death of a police dog makes our “souls” shrivel.
And we play good too, so good, we forget we be playin’
the personas becoming the persons we fall in love with
and the saga transcends to adopt every birth into its plot,
every child to be taken advantage of, not one to be lost.
Know what the real crime that we’re all guilty of, is?
The fact that we forget how infinitesimal a part humanity has
to carry out in this play of existence and how we, who want to play the hero,
can’t be content with playing the role we’re meant to play, slaughter the show.
We are the killers here, make no mistake,
pretending to solve that homicide like it wasn’t ours in make,
sucking the life off this planet, reducing its life to a fraction,
for only and only our greed to be remembered, post-mortem.
But the twist, here, is that there won’t be anything left to remember
or be remembered by and for, for we’ve poisoned this tale
and all that’s left will be the dust from our bones in earth’s embers
as if we’ve never been a part of this screenplay at all.
But until then, we remain at large, with airtight alibis
and propositions of better suspects – the gods and the evidences
we present in the name of books dedicated to this characterization,
concealing our bloody hands holding a murder weapon – religion.
O the crimes we commit in the name of faith and belief!
The way we hold up these books as shields
defending our under-evolved moral compasses
from getting bloodied from all the murders.
We burnt women alive because some books called them witches
We tore apart nations because they had different favorite books
We justify hatred, xenophobia, homophobia, racism, with pages
written in blood of the murdered and the oppressed, for ages.
But to this day, we still wear armors made of these blood soaked pages
as if they’re not fiction & are our history and not as fantasies but as memories
of a yester that never happened for it is the only lie they hold
within their dirt ridden palms from all the graves they sold.
“But if we know all this, why don’t we get rid of the mad?”?
Because the “leaders” and the schemers find use for such decoys
as religion, supremacy, conspiracy, hatred amongst brothers to exploit
by division but they too fail to realize that there is, in it all, no point.
That no matter what randomly cruel and megalomaniacally motivated
acts they so covertly, yet proudly carry, this stage be headed for its doom.
We, with no effect of the perceived ‘good’ or ‘bad’ we do, are sedated
by these ruses of ours and are blind to the end to which we’re all fated.
So shed your cloaks and drop your masks,
the play is dead and we’re its corpse.
Breathe in the plague that we’ve become…
breathe in the death that we’ve become.