As within and so without,
we capture new meanings to silence our doubt
free souls held back by all we failed to say
hindering voices to mend the disarray
why do we stay, Desert Kingdom,
stuck in your sand ruts, empty to the touch
an unforgettable grasp I hope to Hell doesn’t last

as we chase lost and lonely futures
of a Countenance entertaining lifetimes past
and how do we then handle ourselves;
living upon stolen land from latter selves
as we were once the Prisoners we keep
kept deeply hidden in time-traveled sleep
reminiscent daydreams, dare the Visionary speak

as we sift through openly and seek
led blindly through the masses;
these poly-plasmic sheep
tell me how we’ve grown so fickle, cheap
to shuffle across these crumbling streets
burnt tar rubbing on a flat-footed fleet
dispelling new energies in dream realms we meet

the gypsies retreat to the West
from barren lands all bare of feet
sharing new lines to endure our defeat
carrying these burdens on our backs
just to remain “somewhat free”

We are not Sheep, you and I
we are chasing freedom in ill-poised confines
ravaging these tormented lands, severed lifelines
for all we have lost and all it’s cost our tired souls
good morning Officer, “what is the goddamn toll?”
this story’s getting really old and the Sheep

are so desirous to break their peasantry molds
herding up this farm grew the ranch hands desperately old
their ailments alleviating a former affinity for stolen peace
then let us not be the only ones awake enough to speak;
dare we bum rush the Capitol, you sleepy fucking Sheep?


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