The Language of Truth

Singing like a siren somewhere deep within my Being,
a potent call that's beautiful beyond what simple men
have words to say, foretells for us, a brand new way of Seeing.
Tear down the temple stones and leave not one stacked on. And when

at last, beliefs are gone, the naked sun shines in, and all is clear.
Believers of religion black the skylights and shut the doors,
so that their minds, sleepwalk through a phantasmosphere
where frames and tracks are fixed, and oceans don't have distant shores.

Our zygote came with this pre-wired, waiting for that destined day
when we were poised to put aside self-pity and false-pride.
I'm guessing that is where, division from these vices starts to pay,
as that which is Most Real, has made the Truth to be our guide.

Crocked and bombed on self told lies, most folks don't stand a chance
to wander paradise in this life, or the next. The few
that free themselves from Ego's hook, can break the dreadful trance
the keeps them dead-brain loyal to the herd. Until a mind breaks through

the engine room, where the False One churns out delusion and doubt,
this pass through Life, will disappoint the team that launched one's Soul,
(whom ever that may be). We are endowed with means to figure out
what must be done, to chuck the puppet and fully take control.

The clues are everywhere. I want to know just what are you
pretending isn't so? You are, like everyone a fake,
to some degree. The phoney parts are built through time, and due
to specious pride and apathy, we leave wreckage in our wake.

Were it only us who pay the bills, that might be fine,
but traps are set and sprung, just by colatteral touch.
This makes you leper-like, in need of containment. Divine
in source, our BIOS code can build anew, the rabbit hutch

that most call home. Sad for everyone, consciousness is low.
The world around is plagued with half-wits, hypoctites and hicks,
plus mark missers of every sort. To not admit you star this show,
nails down your fate, as first in line to cross the river Styx.