Shackles, dusty cobwebs collected at the back of my mind/

Bars erected everywhere, zombies walking aimlessly in their uniforms/

We spend years in captivity, a perennial sorrow adopted since instillation/

Warm afternoons and cold, sleepless nights/

Worn eyes, stressful faces camouflage into the grey, arid walls in what we consider cells/

Patiently waiting, studying, analyzing/

Artificial freedom provided so we can acutely comfort our loved ones during the off seasons/

They argue it’s a system installed into society for those who need to refine themselves so that they may become better people/

The purpose we know is a growing anachronism/

All we know is what we perceive to be the end where we reap the benefits of our menial labor and time served/

A lot system this truly is/

Souls counting down the days until those final days, and the final walk down that final straightaway/

As we embrace our cap and gowns and exchange congratulations/

Universal information and investments dry up like raisins in the Sun/

All the tears, temperaments, and talents, fall off like a leaf on that first day of autumn/

How bitter-sweet/

A lost system this truly is/