When your masturbatory fantasies start getting bizzare
And doubt raises it's hideous head
You ask yourself who you really are
And can't remember what your father said
When truth is locked in the dungeon of silence
When little girls cease to play with dolls
And all the words of the prophet of doom
Are written all over the subway walls
When quietness was raped by stockbrokers
And tranquility has been dead for an eon
When kindness has completely closed it's door
And children sleep in the eerie glow of neon
When fluorescent chemicals flow in our rivers
And stinginess flows through human hearts
And the only time people actually listen
Is when you burp and your dog farts
When evangelists are hell bent on preaching
That right among us Jesus walks
But the lovely brunette drops her hair for bleaching
Because sex sells and money talks
When the virtues of rationality and morality
Find each other in an everlasting ruction
Then the only good news is that you're absolutely free
To witness these patterns of self destruction
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- suraj sharma
- my mind, therefore, becomes this outstretched field of immeasurable serenity, which, although illuminated at angles awkward and unfamiliar to my eyes - is neither dark nor twilit. The strange lighting turns the vacuous foreplay of shadows chasing shadows into an euphoric, almost utopian feeling which is held in suspension as long as this configuration of appearances beckons the restlessness of reason ever forward into the uncharted hinterlands of imagination while at the same time compelling me to bless the lighting director.
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