Waiting for the storm
The repetition of changeless days are a betrayal
The sacred rage at not having that variety
We have longed for chaos, this static state of things is no Utopia
Denying a life of routine
You have misunderstood the true meaning of scarcity
Your impulses give you away soft delectable neediness is exposed
In a world like this there is no poverty but the poverty you partake
Out of disorder they have enforced carnivals and distractions for the masses
Interruptions between your weekly grinstamp shopping spree
I'm waiting for the storm it's divine shapes and greys speak to me
They teach me of freedom of expression
That fear guided you down a path that led to your bondage
Even though it was advertising cheap freedom
What could it mean to paint your own world with your own colors
Instead of reflecting the palette from a panel of hacks with the right credentials
Now your colors and language form the mild tones of prison walls
Your mindless zero sum games, your clutched identity
Somewhere between baggage fueled resonance and attraction from imprinting
Lose yourself in the dreary breeze of daily life or find yourself in your sense of terror
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