Sebastion

 Don´t let his head know the torment
That his amusement would go forward
Yet where would he cut illusion from reality
With his wooden spoon

We trick ourselves and fun is in our surprise
When our children lost and confused
find it painful to swallow the lie

Don´t let my pain be my sons pain
Don´t let this complexity whip him
Yet the world is not what it advertises
deception is manufactured son

We decieve ourselves to feel and think
That perhaps things are a few degrees better
We build the fantasy land and hand you toys

Don´t let it blind you son
The walking stick theyll sell you
Is just a fully compatible clever crutch

Go out and hit those planets
As they trade lies

Be the alien
As they organize themselves into herds

Be the emporer
As they elaborately enslave themselves

Reign over the whole poxy image filtered galaxy