Standing at the edge of a cliff my dreams fade away.
Are these the hopes and drams of a robotic youth
desperately thrown astray A fit of rage? Fury, and hope
for the new day.
My toes, nothing underneath, my soles on solid ground,
my well being of a soul content, wondering where all
the wonder went. How did it come to this, why? By what means,
a cruel trick devised, and plotted by the best of the them, thick as thieves,
thin as their lies. All gone out the window seen by the peering eyes of the
widow who knows just a little bit too much.
Information is a crutch, its a shame both legs are broken, you'll never get
to the mirage they have chosen. We the forsaken, doomed, laid to rest
among the young, the old, the stressed.
Whats left to do? But count backwards from one hundred.
These are the good ole days,
I lose my footing,
and plummit.
