“Why do all men go to war?”
The gun asked the bullet as it came,
“It may be for the value of a name,
Or the reckless ambition of wit”
Men die on the silent road,
Of wars they do not understand,
There was a funeral of reason,
When man first went to war,
“Why do all men fall in love?
And wet me with that greasy slime”,
This was the questions the lip asked the tongue
“They are enthused by the recklessness,
The constant fading of sanity,
Witless encounters of mindless caution,
Is it love, could it be,
There is a funeral of reason when love leads.
Why is uncertainty our biggest fear?
Caution deprives us of our time?
We spend a lifetime not trying,
For the veil that splits between,
In the fallow realm,
We lie,
Unfulfilled,
Awry and dry,
We buried reason,
To be free,
I hang on the bitter poles of my own mind,
Asking myself, who is insanity?
Steps surrounding our peak,
We lay fallow, our mountains speak,
Courage is a mirror of self deceit,
Insanity is everything we have done with our heart.
I went for the funeral of reason,
In the many bodies that pile the screen,
We defend that illusion of life,
Killing all life in the way.
To become or to be,
That has always been the question.
What is your reason?