The snow isn't like the rain
It sticks and sticks and sticks and sticks
Or melts instantaneously
The blinding bright power
Hurts my eyes with its purity
I close my eyes and look away
The snowy sun is a liar
Its rays pierce through your skin
And leave you stripped bare
From atop the penthouse
I ignore the suffering of below
And enjoy the exotic show
You wake up
It’s happened again
People get hurt
People get killed
Nothing ever changes
When it was first created
It was a primitive tool that was inefficient
Over decades of progress
It became automated and sleeker
What once took minutes to activate
Executes dozens of times per second
When it was first made
We chose to let anyone have it
People still cling to this century old claim
They ignore the rapid changes
And listen to the flow of money
You wake up
It’s happened again
People get hurt
People get killed
Nothing ever changes
hello?
can you hear me?
im singing a lullaby
a lullaby for you alone
my voice resounding out
lulling in and out of nothingness
the pendulum of the clock
swinging back and forth
the pendulum of my heartbeat
swinging back and forth
the pendulum of my life
swinging back and forth
the pendulum of my feelings
swinging back and forth
my voice resounding out
a lullaby nobody hears
hello?
can you hear me?
In the morning the rain falls
It lightly coats everything
The world feels new
By mid-day the rain stops
The world is still wet
Let's take this opportunity
In the afternoon it evaporates
The liquid disappears
The chance flies away
By nighttime it's gone
The world never changed
So how could you?
Wandering the floors of the museum,
all alone, nobody with me.
Looking at all the art—
I just don’t get it.
On the third floor,
I see a policeman.
Staring off into space,
standing with authority.
I sit down on a nearby bench.
He doesn’t move.
I don’t move.
Together, we’re both statues.
What is our drive?
What do we exist for?
He doesn’t answer me.
I don’t answer him.
The two of us are solemn,
still, emotionless,
mere shells of existence—
appearing lifelike, but lacking life.
Eventually I get up
and walk around the museum.
Looking at all the art—
I just don’t get it.
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