The Ruse

There is a social illness

A false promise of reward

Which looms around each corner

Of a maze with dead end doors

Whose prize like a mirage

Ever retreating in the distance

Drives thirst releasing poison

In the mind of vain ambitions

Intoxicating victims

To believe hallucination

Of artificial grandeur

With related class divisions

The ruse of peer approval

Hides the string of puppeteers

Whose hearts are dark with sorcery

Fear weaving spells of ills

Enchanting countless masses

With the venom of self-doubt

Addicted to placeboes of self-worth

Increasing drought

The sickness sorely deepens

By emaciating soul

Distracting with the symptoms

While the real infection grows

And so the mass delusion spreads

To pandemic proportions

Dispensing covert contagions

Through dark worldly consortiums

The rushing of the lemmings feet

Increase hypnotic pace

While drowning in illusion

To their own demise they race