Crazy World

There’s a spell on our home

Yes, why isn’t there a cut path for us to follow

Why do the good things seem good to some?

And blinding, crushing, painful to those who need it the most

Why are the bad things full of ecstasy, why does curiosity kill cats?

Why does beauty have to be so complex, why do little things matter the most

Why does freedom have its chains and the free still slave

Why does hair have an attitude

Some fall gently, others never behave

What’s it about charisma that makes it so magnetic

Why does its holder make others do the most absurd things?

Sometimes it’s actions make it seem pathetic

Like murdering to free torn places

Why does sacrifice have its rules

Why can’t we say up yours

And burn it all

Why does our blood boil

When war sounds its call

What is so sweet about hope that makes us wake up to face the day

Why is it so bitter that millions turn away at the mention of its taste?

What the hell does it mean to face the day

When the sun meets your eyes, we all still look away

How does it feel like to embrace the beauty of night?

How come darkness always gives the most invigorating thrall

How come following the crowd feels so ecstatic

Even when the crowd doesn’t know the way

What does fashion mean today?

Men are hailed for the little they wear

Women are praised for the little they leave and the more they put on

Why can’t blades reach into souls, mine needs a shave

Who can do this properly, what does he need, I’d pay

Why can’t I fix my heart with impenetrable clay?

My face isn’t a bag of sand

When I’m hit I definitely break

Why do words cut, but leave no scars to be?

Shakespeare got that ‘sticks and stones” line wrong you see

Why do we talk to a God who doesn’t talk back, at least when our problems get to breaking?

Are our prayers kept in boxes, for when he wills to get to sorting?

If I could get the wizard that poured the potion

That lets my mind undergo this haphazard motion

I’d ram a blade in his eye, I’ll crush his bottles to dust

And set his grimoires alight, I should make the flames big enough to engulf

So that the world feels the heat of hate he spread in those early days

Maybe if the people stare into hatred’s eyes long enough they’d turn, leave him well alone

They learn the little guy isn’t stone, blood flows through his veins

Doubt that, they’d probably put him on this shoulder and organise a parade

Douse him in jokes and tirades, then set him unto a fiery blaze

Like they’ve done time and time again

Oh!!¡… here I’ve gone and lost myself again,

Ignore me, it’s the voices talking again

Guess the fire should get to my mind this time, whose flint can light that

Now that would cost the world, a price I’d love to pay

But then, when it’s lost who’s gonna play, the voices might never stir again

And I really need some company

But that’s all it comes to, isn’t it?

Whether we can or can’t let go

None is similar, yet we all seek perfection

The perfect image is single, but sameness is abhorrent

That mage really got me good, indecision imprisons us all

But for now my mind had closed its doors, so get out

Before you have no choice

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