Blood Clot

The library became something that we synthesize.
Televised in some sad semblance,
You could honestly describe as "modernized"
Wide-eyed, grand attempts at getting a
Customized,
Annotated,
Nothing.
A corpse, not remotely resemblant, remains.

Can you bury a million people for the taste of what their fed?
Worship in a way that dulls the head.
I don't care who made it,
We're all lying in this bed.

Living in a rough draft culture designed to hypnotize.
We become a distant memory of life,
Now sterilized.
Paralyzed with panoramic scenery from every part of the world
Except,
Our own.
Not a single face is recognizable on this display.

Can't complain though,
So long as they rob you of the words you'd use to do so.
Even when we lack the language,
The feeling is welling up.
Somewhere between hysteria and panic:
Reprise.

We are the children of a system that became it's own disguise.