Gray Tale-Part 1

They don't know any better, they can't be blamed
I've sent them so many letters; so I now find myself dead
For years I've lived maimed, then the extinction in the head
I'm dead
I'm dead
I'm dead and I'm watching you
Looking in from the outside, I see you doing the things that you do

I'm growing a little on the tired side watching them enjoying all the genocide
Smiling at the deaths of the whites, the blacks, or Jews
Are they laughing?
Are you laughing?
They are laughing so I shake my head
I feel the victims dying in pain, they are initiated into the valley of the dead
If they drift in life they die in vain, if they live the truth they are killed with lead
They get stabbed in the heart and scalped of their mane

My face pressed on the freezing window chilling my nose, I'm on the outside looking in They act the good role but my mind really knows
I see their hypocrisies, the lies, and the sin
They play so high; while they're the lowest of the lows
But they need to ACT when the reality is dim.

.....     Could you repeat what you said, what, what 'ya say my friend? Oh! You said you feel good. Well, they don't want you to. No, no I'm not kidding, not a friggin bit. You see it's quite simple.
     They put you down to make you feel like them. They lied to you once, then they'll do it again. Seduce you to screw you and pretend they're a friend. You cry because they make fun of you. Well, laugh because they wish they were you. They may be beating you but know that they attack what they see of themselves. They said they loved you, so why did they leave? Because there's no such thing, it's just another man made idea.
Understand, man must believe his created self-illusions, he avoids the unimaginably decrepit and morbidly lonely self-realities.
     They promised they would back you and you always fought alone. Take my advice and stay in the shadows, never conforming to their paths. Walk through the gray trails, it's real in those areas. But then, you very well may die alone.
     It is all right to cross over alone, the faces finally differ on the other side. The energies are either ugly or beautiful and true to their cover. No veils of hypocrisies, no mirrors of delusive ironic illusions, no need for escapism, no protection for their face. What of the other idea; what if we return?
     The next turn may depend. If they were miserable in the last, then a life of misery in the next? If they were gray in the last, then are they alive in the next? No mines to cross, no wars at last, no crosses to bear, no time is lost.
     There are the mountains, the valleys, the cattle fields, daisies, dandelions, endless plateaus of mushrooms and weeds. Birds passing above see them sleep in poppy tree beds; dreaming and laughing while they listen to the acoustics and the subconscious lyrics a pale yellow poet melodically sings.