Escapism

Daily life is a cruel overlord,
And the world is a sycophantic thrall to it,
Pointed heels and crimson banners,
On a petty crusade against mans stability,
A grinder on our heads,

There is no absolute escape,
But we can always take the rear exit,
Take our hands off the wheel for a jot,
Clinch on to lunacy and escapist methods,
Rotes of digital and chemical evasion,

Play air guitars and perform in personal talent shows,
Vanish into virtual reality made by men in basements,
Sleep the suns and moons away,
Sedate your mind with bottles and needles and nicotine,
Excess by design of course,

Who needs real life?
Let that grinder have your wreck of a body,
While your mind escapes into detachment,
Fit on your spacesuit and take your umbrella,
And off into that make-believe universe of quiet.