Everything’s become so alien

so unrelatable.

Nothing is any longer certain

it’s all debatable.

It feels like there’s no gravity

and I’m clinging to the roof.

I’m clinging onto nothing though

because there’s no fucking truth,

Reality, really,

has always felt illusory,

Our words and definitions

made everything become divisory,

The one thing there is

has now become the many,

and we can’t find any solace

in individuality.

What’s the point, though,

in realising we’re connected?

When those self-evident connections

are always off-handedly rejected.

Because it’s always ‘me’ that comes first.

The practice of self love

can be an iron fist

in fluffy little gloves.

There is so much possibility

for real unity.

More than going

to the same university.

More than going

to the same pubs

or football grounds,

workplaces or clubs.

We all evolved together

on this blue and green ball.

We created languages, art,

philosophy, together we did it all.

Yet we stand on two sides

of imaginary lines.

‘Us’ deserving to be here

‘Them’ on the other sides

Which betrays the very thing

that we all do best.

Helping others, giving love

letting people rest.

Because rich douchebags

set us in competition.

When they’re all on the same team

and they’re clearly fucking winning.

It doesn’t seem enough to say ‘fuck that’

something needs to give,

and not our right to self govern,

to be free or to live.

Before we end up nuking

this place into the dust,

we’ve got to fuck them off.

We fucking have to, we really must


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