You won't even understand. That's why I'm me, and you're always a day late, a dollar short, miles away, and probably will always be a mirage in the distance, or cold in my shadow, because I hate paying attention.
There are many things that I want, but I don't know when it'll break. I don't know what will give way. Fall in line, do what you're told. Eat the bread of socialists. Poison in the well that drags everyone to hell, because history repeats itself, and history is rewritten by those in power, and those in power never want history to be exactly what it seems.
I think to myself, "God, she is so beautiful. How come I don't know her?" And he says, nothing for now. At least on that subject. So, she stays behind a window, and we never speak. The end.
We are meant to struggle, and suffering is part of it. There would be no point in going to see a film if there were no drama, or tension. If we met George in scene one, admired his hair and perfect life, it'd last about thirteen minutes, tops, and we'd all start to taste what is really in the popcorn butter and think, "This is really boring and superficial."
If there is no drama, no affair, or car wreck, or temptation, we have arrived at a less than ideal utopia. If this world was meant to be great, or even good, we'd have no reason to want or need faith, or be in Heaven.
And by the way, you can't undo it. Nothing. It's all on tape. Intergalactic memory banks that has a levy that never breaks. FLOOOOOOOOD storming with everything I've done, and all the staircases I've avoided.
And like a flood, it will go up in flames.
No comments:
Post a Comment