Circadian by Jim Vaughn


Knowing what it is my mind conceives,
I donít think it could put my soul at ease.

All these circadian paths in life we wove,
Were just rhythmic beats wrapped in prose.

Indecision, indiscretion all the impoverished lives,
These confirm my suspicions, I shouldnít really be surprised.

What could we expect of them, what would they say?
they wouldnít know the truth, if you could ask them anyway.

Three trillion, a billion, a sawbuck or a fin.
It all seems the same when itís your money that they spend.

These beautifully jaded lilies, surrounded by their guards,
They delegate the rest of us live in shanties built with cheesy cards.

Servitude to principal, was once upon a goal,
Self-indulgence put that concept, way down deep in a hole.

Decisions and opinions, quite often expressed for me,
Their discrimination against us, was way to easy to see.

But now Iím straight and narrow, I follow the governments trail,
The path has got me stuck, in my own circadian hell.

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