What good are your twisting words, philosopher?
To a heart born broken and empty
Who I am, why I am, now I am,
Are questions as pointless as their answers
What good is your science, physicist?
To the ones who do not care for how
it all rises and it all falls
to the dust from whence it came
And you, story teller. You liar
You're the biggest fucking cunt of all
ensnaring the fools with their own imaginations
Crushing them with disappointment and standing faultless
innocently triumphant and smiling sadly
upon the pain you share
What good is your love God?
If it can not hold these souls to their own existance
What good is your indifference, universe?
Turning and twisting wordlessly. Endlessly.
All but a game of words
What good is any of it?
Only as good as you allow it to be
And so some laugh and dance and live
While others watch beyond the curtain
watching in sad desperation and resentment
and wondering how they wandered over, unable to pass back
