My Room Smells Like A Febreeze Leak - Gross!

Strip-Mining The Yellow Brick Road


I am a little man behind a curtain pulling greater strings
With the heart of a cowardly lion
And a tin foil hat to keep my thoughts my own.
A puppeteer hiding off the stage
With a disguised, projected voice
To cover my growing list of sins
My rising list of doubts
To keep God from finding out.
The world markets burn
With the green flames of our black-hearted greed.
The grey skies fill our yellow bellies with uncertainty,
And the red dawn fills our eye-whites with doubt.
Our lips turn blue as we forget to breathe
Our ears begin to bleed
From the strain of suspending our disbelief.
And there are wars and rumors of war
Collapse and disaster, strife and rampant chaos (and greed)
And we hang God in the city square
For daring to make us feel
Only to realize that without hope we were never real.

I am a puppet on a tiny stage
Dancing to thoughts not my own.