  They say That life is perception: I breathe, therefore I am. Eye of the beholder. They say that existence Is what we make of it. It is chicanery, A sleight of hand A joke, a play, A rerun That hasn't improved For the repeat viewing. I have come to see it, With my beholden eye, As what life would make of us. It is mythos, A fantastic creature of the fancy, That would have us believe That we have any choice at all, Any direction to give to our paths.
Come with me, I entreat you. Join me. Realize that we, Fellow fools, Are merely the stepping stones, The means to an end, A cosmic joke, Worm on the hook, Cast from a broken mold And discarded To make of this What we will. Welcome to the dance, With your broken feet, And no sense of rhythm. 
