Waves washing wide, waxing and waning tide,
and the times we tried to make something true.
They were nobodies in the eyes of the giant-sized;
now caught in a typhoon spinning
just off the shoreline, killing.
Uncommon weather led us here,
but away from the eye
where so many go to die.
As this goes, we're happy to play the closed circuits
with electronicity... belting, falling, and rising
again with every melodic muse & harmonic interlude.
We were misguided by promises of good standing.
We composed our music; infused it with meaning,
dreaming of the lights so high and gleaming.
Talented and skilled, in good grace and strong-willed.
Our fortune was set only to rise,
against what we despise.
And the typhoon loomed high within the distance,
so willing to catch them up to the heavens,
propelling them up ever higher.
All the masses shocked by our
decrying, manufacturing, creating a
world for the trapping of minds:
bigger, better, faster, more, now...
This is a sad state of affairs,
when the storm only taunts and dares.
Still so many jump into the waters,
swimming just as fast as they can
to be seen, no doubt by a talent scout.
So many drown without any sound,
in the ravenous, murderous waters.
And so the tempest draws them up,
then casts them out like a styrofoam cup.
Flock to be used and abused, thinking only:
"But what if I make it to the top ?"