Reach for the sky
And pierce the heavens,
It's a tired lie
When they say we can
Never dream big.
This is our home,
Made by our own hands,
Where our souls roam
Across these gray lands
That never end.
Metal horses
That grunt, roar, and scream;
Mindless corpses,
Suits, never stop moving –
Welcome today.
If death lived here,
Then there would be no
One else; yet fear
exists like disease
without a cure.
The ones who talk
Walk the path of bent
Truth; they just squawk,
Always squawking
Always thinking.
Life is a game
Built for thinking men
Who, for a name,
Would risk everything,
Even their souls.