To the masses that play on our souls?
Do we incline to dress ourselves as fakes?
The progress we have done is a remembrance of our innocence
The slow pace is one league
The Lions gorge on inner beauty
Sometimes the life that is led
Is a quandary of discontent
A confusion of private senses
And a radiance of ridiculous ego
Traveling through a parchment of tabloid disrespect
Pleasing the money men to secure a cottage…
What a genius soul you are
You have all the answers
You contain all the questions
You cannot remember yourself
And I damn you for that
What is this; I see the head and the body
I don’t see the brain
I don’t see the mind
I don’t see creativity
I don’t see originality
But what I do see is your reckless attempt
To sell yourself before those who do not appreciate
Nor want to appreciate what art is…
Art…
Simplicity works
Complexity works
Love works
Hate works
Immense words works
Petite words works
Compassion works
Indifference works
Common sense works
Irrationality works
This is ART
This is what WE do
And I refuse to claim myself to a master that is obtuse
