Poetry/Music

Masked Chaos

First Verse:

Where have you been on this lonesome night?
Oh me? I been thinking of where I fall with right and wrong.

I believe my plight that I write is maybe right, it's hard to tell because I think I lost my original sight despite how many times I bite my tongue.
Here I am to recite everything in the spotlight, so stand upright to those absolutely uptight, impolite whispers going around that are by now trite, it causes me quite a fright.
It's now fight or flight which is not alright, as my body increases Fahrenheit like a meteorite.
In the end I am standing when nobody else does, that's right in my eyes in a world filled with lies, everyone wearing a disguise because they are afraid of people knowing who they are.
Now all the good guys dies, while evil hangs out up in the highs, and only the people who notice cries.
Is it all a surprise, we criticize any sort of compromise because we empathize with who dramatize the truth.
It's hard to say if my words are being heard sometimes.

Chorus:

The true evil is the mask of chaos that is so archaic that it might as well be mithraic and altaic.
Nothing I can do, I am just a simple man with a complex ideology, albeit accompanied with too much philosophy that is akin to epistemology and psychology.
But now it is rife with confusion with my own isolation, my choices and will all coarctation from a simple calculation.
I feel as if I am forever stuck in my own prison that rests inside and outside, only able to listen while trying to figure out what is missing.

Second Verse:

I am tired of the masquerade, everyone running around like they are some renegade that is portrayed as a grenade ready to blow.
The solution is not a tirade, but it's to end the charade even if everyone is afraid.
We need to put that blade down from each other's throats, we need to change this decade quick or things will never keep from the culture that creates the betrayed cascade crusade.
I think I can never say enough, and it's sometimes tough dealing with the stuff that is rough.
But you know what, we need to start aiming for the sky but lay-low and stop acting like a no-show.
You're not some staccato falling down like a domino, you're adaigo with a slow tempo, perhaps divertimento is a bit more proper.
Sometimes we wish for a manifesto before we clear our minds like a reseau, needing certain calibrations to make great declarations from many applications for expectations of future generations.
But thinking that far is miserable with how indecipherable it is, even though it is considerable of an idea.
It seems kind of fictional, but I will say it is pinnacle to see even the tallest mountain as climbable.
Just wake up to a new day like it is formidable.

Chorus:

The true evil is the mask of chaos that is so archaic that it might as well be mithraic and altaic.
Nothing I can do, I am just a simple man with a complex ideology, albeit accompanied with too much philosophy that is akin to epistemology and psychology.
But now it is rife with confusion with my own isolation, my choices and will all coarctation from a simple calculation.
I feel as if I am forever stuck in my own prison that rests inside and outside, only able to listen while trying to figure out what is missing.