Staring at the ceiling in the darkness
Your mind is racing, repeating
Life is but a manic series of deflating failures when compared to the
Images that flash across the screen, what's the point of all this?
What does any of it mean?
Good question! I'd like the answer myself
But there's one thing that I know about you for sure
You were sent here with a gift
But the realm in which we exist
Seeks to dazzle, to confuse, with every cheap, tawdry ruse
Till we forget what it is
The gift is not glory, the gift is not heroics or recognition
It's not the hatred our demonic leaders keep demanding
It's something so impossibly mundane
Cannot be measured, it cannot be named
It's something so crucial to how things turn out
You were sent here with it to conquer chaos and doubt
But that Great Deceiver in your ear
Laughing it all off with a sneer, ha!
With a derisive, discordant blast
Terrified that one day you'll grasp
Creation don't make no trash
You may feel ill-equipped
And aimlessly adrift
But you were sent here with a gift
What will you do with it?
