Processed People

I watch the processed people, live their lives on conveyor belts.
Is it really freedom, if you’re held by invisible chains?
The man walks up and smiles, he’s got enough ‘til tomorrow.
And continues on without caring, about his aches or pains.

The girl standing on my corner, calls to wave me over,
“Does it make a difference?” she asks as she blows her friend a kiss.
Two eyes, a mouth, and a nose, she thinks more than she knows,
The blind man is truly the only one who lives in bliss.

His paper numbers thirty, though his face shows fifty,
By the time he makes it, there will be no looking back.
To sit and speak in silence, what more could you ask for?
I showed myself to the door, and looked at the stings on his back.

Start out talking madness, only then knowing gladness,
As the veil is lifted, the shroud appears to darken your eyes.
And when once more insanity, stops by, this time to stay,
It’s only because you can no longer tell the truth from all the lies.

Don't Be Silent

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