Dreaming a new scent for these circus days
twirling around the time concept we use to have
the splash will be monumental when we arrive
Cultural inception of regulated thought machines
work through lacerated language
nothing makes sense when they don't even know how to speak
or why they're speaking
The purpose is forgotten in a bowl of alphabet soup
circles around circles
and we keep running trying to catch the next corner
the beacon towers of hope, charity, brotherhood, love, and compassion
still warn us of dangerous coasts with ragged rocks and shallow waters
Chaos will ensue when the golden mist starts to blind our voyage
it will be generated by the unknowing masses behaving like hives
dying for the queen without the smallest glimpse of their true size
all parts of this hive we call earth are unique
fight club was using reverse psychology
if you don't believe me watch it backwards while standing on your head
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