Beats they part,

plays the role destined to be,

forgery of the plastic spoons,

emancipation of the self,

designed to be not like this,

when eyes are not my own,

and the bloods spills from wounds open like breathing holes,

we are worry,

you see things wrong,

insect like workers,

mixed signals beneath a metal cage like grasp of decay,

who smiles last he said,

with a smile upon his face,

it became obvious at that stage it was not I who smiled last.