Edges of the Game

I see the edges of lifeThey push me to want it all darkerKnowing things as they areDealing with the game makerKnowing that it’s all riggedI’ll never have the aces of the game

It’s all a glorified facadeIt crucifies all of us as we goAnd we pray to godsHoping they’ll let us go

Religion is the best invention of humanitySaying that our ancestors didn’t knowOf course it feels good to think we’re progressingThat things have changed somehowWhen from since the beginning it’s all the same truth on play

I stand with BukowskiThose who have the sightFor them it’s a lonely night of whiskiesTheir mind is prepared them to push over the edge anytimeSo their resiliencePrepared to fight backFor that they were born to write on the edge of life and death

The more I knowDarker my mind getsThis time I’m unafraidThe facade becomes all too addictingI see my mirrorsThe norms tear down in my closet

ExhaleThe voice saysNothing you should be afraidIt’s all there in the light of dayNo one has the courtesy to hide anymoreOr perhaps they’re taking a page from Sherlock

I’m listening to the crimson roses in the darkThe sight makes me powerfulI can disappear into anyone in plan sightI chose to fade into an only letter