Is there anything worth fighting for
or is it all in jest?
The microphone, the pleasure box
his head hangs to his chest,
his eyes are wide closed shut for now
it’s time to take his rest
but rest assure he knows that peace
only will come through death.
The world feels like a fishbowl
swimming circles go the days.
His mind is like a race car
stalled out lost within the haze
now everyone’s a martyr, noble
women walk the maze
an endless stream of consciousness
feels like a forced parade.
The cards left in the shuffle are to blame.
The Queen of Hearts is silent in this game.
If one love is the message how come
fear’s your favorite word?
Fingers sharp as daggers pointing
only to be heard
They congregate, both sides of hate
knowing not who they serve
it’s hard enough to be born human
it’s even harder premature.
The dealer’s diamond hands you blame
is why the Joker wins this game.