Leading quiet lives of desperation, we maniacally cling to the unreal.
Life pursues it's stranglehold, upon us, it's pain revealed.
We, as a race, are frail and weak, crises leave us paralyzed.
We strain to deal with what's thrown at us, we're therefore traumatized.
Really, I speak for no one but me,
And I am losing my grasp.
On that which I must call
