mass imperfection.
poetic justice show me purpose.
why are we here? in this life, its such a circus.
inside the tri-ringed arena of deep subconciousness
im looking at the sky, thinking which one is the blindest
a people; living immensely vicariously
who are you? the truth entails a mystery
we all know but they still dont want to tell you
they want you thinking your heaven sent and hell proof
to scared to accpent a rational truth
answers are served to do away with the rash
let the dutche smoke float, and fly with the ash
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