• The world dances.
    It dances continuously.
    It dances in circles.
    It orbits so quickly.
    Danceing to a magical macabre melody.
    A song that's not playing.
    Written by nobody.
    Can't you make the music stop?
    Its killing them.
    Can't they see its killing them?
    Then again.
    Its hard to see in a room so dim.
    Enlightment.
    Give me it.
    A wall.
    A dam.
    Blocking waves of ignorance as they fall.
    So much confusion.
    Self-created delusion.
    All this pain.
    Still they keep dancing in vain.
    Adding notes to a song that does not exist.
    Creating illusions of spirtual bliss.
    I scream.
    Too much.
    Iscream.
    Its too much.
    Make it stop.
    Stop it.
    The hurt.
    The pain.
    The lies.
    How can words so clearly contrast with eyes?
    I thought wrong.
    I knew better.
    Why do they persist?
    Why?
    I scream.
    Why?
    Riddles left unanswered.
    The worlds just a stage.
    Quit being dancers.
    To a song that is not playing.
    I scream.
    Why don't you hear what I'm saying?
    I refuse.
    No more offers to your abuse.
    I scream.
    Why don't you hear what I'm saying?
    Revolutionary reverberations rumbling in rampage.
    Controversial conclusions climbing out of their cage.
    I scream.
    In every direction.
    North West East South.
    Why can't you hear the words flowing out of my mouth?
    Thoughts like oxygen.
    Supply cut off.
    Suffocating.
    A sanctity to a physiological plane.
    You are desocrating.
    That song seems to have an odor.
    Maybe defecating.
    I scream until you hear.
    I am waiting.
    Placing words to out plane through pencil to paper.
    It almost seems that ideas are taking shape there.
    To shed a little light.
    In the words of Shakespeare
    "All the worlds a stage."
    Quit dancing.
    To a song that is not playing.
    What?
    No sound without paying?
    I need originality.
    Variety.
    Enlightenment.
    At least dance to your own beat.
    Message sent?
    The polar-like pull of a popular poll is nothing.
    It exists only temporarily.
    Your own thoughts are something else entirely.
    Infinate.
    I scream.
    A declaration.
    My own tune.
    Just one verse.
    I scream.
    One verse because it goes to one earth.