Acid Lemonade

Acid Lemonade It all starts with you lying in your bed The lamp across the room illuminates your empty gaze, in the half-light. You’re drinking while wishing the lemonade had sulphuric acid in it It’s been a long journey, from nothing to nothing, nowhere to nowhere Suddenly, you just don't care anymore because you figured out the relevance of our existence: It doesn't exist You pretend you're playing the game “How are you doing? “I’m fine”, which is just one of the answers that the system programs all the brainwashed puppets to say from the uterus and hides that you gave up looking for the true answers Your days are vanishing in the acquaintance with the concept that the origin of everything was a calculated accident Which inspires the consequent understanding that there is some sort of prearrangement about the planet whirling silently in space And then comes the routine of boredom wrapped in the repetition of meaningless activities with no inherent purpose You’re chained to the formula, attached to the machine Gradually the things that made you get out of bed every day, are vaporised into thousands of particles of disinterest and the goals you believed in are now all pointless If you eat the food it has no taste, whether you breathe it or not it makes no difference, whether you are praised or scolded it makes no difference. Tears in the rain At some point, you want to sleep for decades and, guess what, it ends up happening. Then you wake up only to discover that you're in a dream within a dream, within a dream… within a dream… Reality is a fiction… simulation It was all inside us, liquid days that slipped through our fingers They leak in kindergarten, they leak in traffic, they leak in the lack of talks at the dinner table Then there's that age when flashes pop through your mind, random images of pathetic moments Everything you've done, big or small, will dissolve in time No one reaps what they’ve sown, time is the real reaper and that’s why in the end you’ll end up in the beginning, back to the void you came from The lamp burns out You’re sunk in bed no longer in half-light You’re engulfed by darkness, from within and outside And at the end of each thought you stretch your arms trying to reach that light that your subconscious tells you that is at the end of the tunnel But there is no light at the end of the tunnel because… What if this tunnel is Ton 618?