Post by Elasticband on Aug 2, 2006 13:23:40 GMT -5
I couldn't think of a name for it 
Part of the endless cycle,
Work,
Eat,
Sleep.
The work is boring,
The food is flavourless,
And the sleep is empty.
Day after day,
Night after night,
Dull,
Empty,
Expressionless.
The mind has become part of a machine,
No emotion,
Never thinks "What if?",
Never wonders if it's different somewhere else.
'Somewhere else' has the same cycle.
There's still work, eating and sleeping,
But the work has variety,
As does the food,
And the sleep is full of wonderful places,
Colours and hopes.
Things change,
The people create extravagant works of art,
Huge palaces and cathedrals,
All sorts of new technology.
And it's all owed to the dream,
Where nothing is impossible,
Where ideas are born.
Part of the endless cycle,
Work,
Eat,
Sleep.
The work is boring,
The food is flavourless,
And the sleep is empty.
Day after day,
Night after night,
Dull,
Empty,
Expressionless.
The mind has become part of a machine,
No emotion,
Never thinks "What if?",
Never wonders if it's different somewhere else.
'Somewhere else' has the same cycle.
There's still work, eating and sleeping,
But the work has variety,
As does the food,
And the sleep is full of wonderful places,
Colours and hopes.
Things change,
The people create extravagant works of art,
Huge palaces and cathedrals,
All sorts of new technology.
And it's all owed to the dream,
Where nothing is impossible,
Where ideas are born.
