The smell of true comfort
Is just an imagination amongst us
The children of self imprisonment.
The meaning of life;
Is only a crazy theory that was painted
Without a direction of action.
We hide behind our devices of deception,
Torn are our man-made hopes
Everyday like nothing but a series of pain.
We can agree with ourselves to drain
All the self blame.
Time is about to die to be reawakened
As a millennium tour of bliss on gold!
Our only way to survive the terrible
Is truly nodding, “yes!”
To the True Everlasting Light.