The idea appears so very often,
What would they do without King?
---
I looked through the books today,
And bought myself again,
I've tried on so many different masks,
I lost my own picture in the end.
-----
If I sit and close my eyes,
Sometimes I can feel my life,
Growing around me,
Twisting through me,
And I know that the ties are unwinding,
And the binds are unbinding,
If only I could push a little harder,
or faster,
or better,
Then maybe I could find
that tiny little key
and unlock the gateway of my dreams.
-----
I guess my life is my own to live,
But the lie isn't mine that I wear,
Though it fits me like a glove,
Or a straightjacket,
But why do I continue then?
Is the only thing I know
so pure,
so clean,
so safe,
That it bears repeating?
Or are the shadows still hiding more?
-----
I could not see,
The innermost workings
of such a wonderful machine
this automation called "life"
a machine built by hands
unlike yours or mine
overpowering, invisible hands
turning the key, pressing the button,
to my clockwork world,
and my electric dream.
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