so I write. by Peter Chapman

do you ever feel like you keep too much of it inside?
like there's something in your subconscious that's polluting your mind;
grinding your gears until all your thoughts and your fears
combine with the lie that you're fine and dry up all of your tears?
you smoke pot and drink beers just to keep the hurt beneath
until the truth breaks through your sanity and shocks all who can see it.
you bleed and you breathe but not yet are you free;
your mental disease tries to heal but psychosis is me.

fear hangs in the derangement of your inner mind,
but as you fall into madness you ask why
the third eye sees seas turn into rain.
the game's changed, now "sane" reigns
with the same stains on different brains;
but, all the pain that remains will see the task through
until no one can recognize you, not even you.

not even me, could bring ashes past masses
like black burned from the green.
at the seam, masking a scheme, blast gas cans in street;
whip lashes slash gashes backbone sliced, grin and bleed.
covering things, smothering dreams,
the Man winks as He sings
and walks fast past the last as He cashes His greens.
never seen, it’s obscene,
the mean wean you off dreams;
only to make you work harder and steal everything.

until you’re callously sane, observing through window panes rain
dropping like acid drenching the whole world in vain.
painting the perfect picture of our adolescent presence and perception on this planet;
too absorbed by our own egos but can’t think without the xanax,
and so quick on our feet to build up cities with concrete
and plant a tree on the sidewalk just to remind us that it was green.
it’s obscene how they think they control your life
and how they dangle a dollar in front of you like you need it to survive.
in the eye of the beholder, the torch of life is lit
so as you strive to be bolder, there’s no reason you should quit.

that’s it, that’s all; are you ready for the fall?
that’s it, that’s all; are you ready for the fall?
that’s it, that’s all; are you ready for the fall?
‘cause when the castle crumbles, there’ll be freedom for us all.

we tripped now we’re falling and the working-class citizen's
left hopping on one leg through the hoops they presented ‘em.
revolution calling change in the name of a broken system;
with a billion voices bawling, how the fuck could they resist them?

we fell, now we’re rising, surprising the Man in the top seat.
put down your pot and visine, take the uprising to the streets.
what’s the point in pride things when you give up your beliefs
to hide in the comfort of your bedroom underneath your white sheets?