“Sing a hopeful song!”
They said.
“A catalyst for revolution!”
They cried.
“A song for the rebels…”
They shouted.

Strange it is,
How our minds change with the passing wind.
Thoughts like leaves caught in a wisp,
left to gracefully fall to the ground,
Forgotten infinitely.
Sad, isn’t it?

“Sing a hopeful song!”
They said.
“A catalyst for revolution!”
They cried.
“A song for the rebels…”
They shouted.

So now I’m screaming.
I’ve been lost all this time,
searching for the truth.
Oh, isn’t this what you wanted?
We’re lost in the world of our minds,
but what’s left when we’re gone?
Tell me, friend, what’s real?
Is revolution a never-ceasing fire,
or a distraction from the rabid wildfire,
that leaves nothing behind?
What’s real, my friend?
Do you know?

You said,
“I don’t know, it all seems like a means to an ends.
Promptly greeting each day as it comes,
taking for granted all that we’re given by society.”
What does society give,
except a chance to see behind its masquerade?
Open your eyes, it’s right in front of you.
Breathe it in, it’s right under your nose.
Why don’t you let it in?
And now I’m singing a hopeful song,
a catalyst for revolutionary rebels.