T R U T H

Reality speaks not of itself;
But the vain who blind themselves to it;

Clarity of the mind is lost
As happiness sweeps the head
Like an impatient drug
Wishing to deceive

Truth becomes partners with dirt
Only through pain do you realize
Seing the chess board
Instead of pawns

Why must those who seek the truth
Be locked in imperdinante cells
Of pain and black
Crying for the hunger of the world's decay

Pop culture mindlessly embracing slaving drugs;
Caffeine pills and super models
You can be happy for a nickel
Sell your soul
. . . . . Your sight to them

-Coren