People try to catagorise the world,
Placing each precious moment in a box,
Pictures, scientific calculations and mathmatical equations,
But it's the madness of confusion,
That breaks through the worlds twisted illusion,
Knowing everything's screwed wrong,
Helps us narrow down the lies,
I can't help but turn to the box,
Where every moment of my life's
Been analysed, I just want to rip
All their data up,
Free myself from this tangled jungle,
Of beaurocracy that's growing over everything,
Instead I'm forced to answer endless questions,
For the never ending streams of information,
Why should I tell you everyone I love,
Or why I don' belive in families prevailing?
Why do you ask the name of everyone I've
Been with, does that help you solve the riddle that is me?
Now all I see is my personal madness,
The pocket hell, promising answers,
Solution to my mortal pains,
Falling into the vortex of my mind,
Your questions, hells answers,
Flitting like half remembered dreams,
Illusions of the disolusioned mind