by Patrick

Trapped in a desk
My brain they infest
Trying to steal
Anything real
They want to convert
To like to be hurt
The mindless fodder
Cattle to slaughter
My freedom is sold
To fit into a mold

From where did this come?
It really seems dumb
That nobody can see it
Right in front of their eyes.
The conformity
It will just destroy me
It doesn't even need reason
To make my soul die.

These bastards should learn
Though that the boat they churn
Is filled with the ignorant
I see through their plan
They want docile sheep
That they can lead in their sleep
Resistance is futile
When you're fighting the man.

I see no solution
Out of this institution
To clarify all
To freedom so small
Should this be not a right?
For your own mind not to fight?
Freedom of choice?
Without freedom to voice?

They're quick to scold
Conform to the old
The dusty old pages
They call this 'education'.
Creativity's thrown
And in its place is grown
Recitation of facts
That should have long ago passed.

Cynicism and skepticism.
Practice of realism.
Your told you're depressed.
You're making a mess.
Trained to their ways
Who'd think you could say?
That they're wrong and the cup is half empty.

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