A full moon sky, a misty air
The usual constant shaking
Tremors that never stop.
Rockabye baby in the treetop
When the wind blows the cradle will rock
Everything feels more dystopian by the day
The sensations, the realizations, the seeing, the remembering, the knowing,
The cognitive dissonance,
The denying, the escapsim,
The faces, the eyes, the narratives...
Solar flares and full moons and chemtrails and nanoparticles and fake everything,
But things have gotten serious,
This surrealism has gotten real.
This is the end of the beginning,
or the beginning of the end...
Nothing more to do at this stage but wait,
Witness,
and take note.
No comments:
Post a Comment