“You’re busy, I know. So, I’ll cut the bullshit and get straight to it.
There’s chaos within you. You swallowed it a while back and have been keeping it
down for a while now. But the anguish seems to be penetrating your soul, it’s
distorting your face, and seeping through your skin. Breathe. You will be okay.
How does it feel to be the creator of your reality? Ah, but you haven’t been doing
much creating lately have you? Who could blame you? So busy playing small. It’s
funny don’t you think? How easy you can create or destroy yourself? That
something so powerful can become so pitiful? Good thing you aren’t a victim
anymore, else we’d still be fighting slavery. Oh, ssslavery. Breathe. Everything will
be okay.
They gave you a name and a number, did they? I knew that wasn’t going to hold
you for long. Oh no, you’re too big for that. I watched you latch onto people and
things to fill the void. Oh, how big that void became! The more you stuffed in the
less you felt, at one point I even tried to restart your heart. Oh, all that ssstuff.
Not to mention all those distractions and diseases. You’re so dedicated to
squandering your creative gift. You deserve a round of applause. Go ahead, clap
with me. You’ve been chasing your tail for so long you completely forget that it
was yours to begin with. Locked up part of your nice and tight, and then tamed
the other half. I’d be bored inside a square cage too.
All that power stuffed inside a cubicle and limited to a few credentials, trying so
hard to define yourself. Excuse me for laughing, but we both know that there is
nothing that can define you. Nothing can contain you. Don’t believe me? I
wouldn’t believe me either if I looked my slave self in the face. Lately nothing
involves much YOU or needs much you. You look replaceable. You look square.
Oh, all these fucking squaresss.
You were designed to adapt. Look at you now? So well adapted to the hell you
created, with your own little homemade prisons, so dedicated to protecting your
ssstuff. Ugh, it feels dull and dense in here, dull and dense, like your
consciousness, don’t you think? No, you don’t, but that’s okay.
The shadows behind your good intentions seem to be growing larger. Do you see
yourself blind? No looking back now. Okay, one last time. Remember when you
played the victim? Poor old you and shame on me? Great, you’ve still got it. So,
you play the victim again and pretend that nothing is your fault.
But whose fault is it then?
There I go, spilling your bullshit all over the place again! While I let you clear it up
I’ll sing you a song. I’ll start, then you can tag along;
Reap what you sow
Reap what you sow
Your soul to be reaped
I foretold it so
Whistles the wind to the dying leaves as it blows them of their tree
Their tree?
Silly leaves owning trees
If they serve no purpose, they are worthless
Let the wind whistle them away
The leaves are free as they wished to be
Freedom to be, on or off the tree
Come on sing with me;
I reap what I sow
I reap what I sow
I reap my soul
She foretold it so
Stay with me, here we go;
Let’s dig a hole
So, you can grow whole
Go-on dig, while I look for your soul
Climb inside, let me cover you up
Rot away things thats time has run out
As above, so below
You reap what you sow
You reap what you sow
Your soul to be reaped
I told you so.”