marooned (re'mastered)

the promise of mental forays into territories ignored;
I'm excited I took this call;
lets question the x+y’s of our tired lives;
let’s mock the quo like it doesn’t affect our strife
let’s pretend like we’re invictus and reality won’t evict us
from our high horses, while we sing along to bands that don’t even exist yet,
We'll make music of our own tapping our feet to the beat, swearing that’s what music ought to be.
We’ll pant to that chant that’s made more rounds around the sun than songs have been sung
and convince ourselves that our connection is better than others, because ours is a land unchartered.
We’ll lie to ourselves that our ideas are grand,
scheming our next thought on what’s fickle because it’s all fickle; what’s under the sun;
they flicker, bloom and die, we all die
but for now, we’ll stay locked up in your room    only coming up for air to stare at your walls of maroon                                                                    we’ll leave the world on your doorstep,        fighting to invade our space with reality’s wet blanket, but it’ll take only our sunsets                    to expressly relieve us from these four walls of our non-confinement.

Marooned

It’s the promise of mental forays into territories ignored;
that has me feeling excited that I took this call;
lets question the answers to the x+y’s of our tired lives;
let’s mock the quo like it doesn’t affect our strife
let’s pretend like we’re invictus and reality won’t evict us
from our high horses, while we sing along to bands that don’t even exist yet,
and make music of our own tapping our feet to the beat
and swearing that’s what music ought to be.
We’ll pant to that chant that’s made more rounds around the sun
than songs have been sung
and convince ourselves that we heard it in a way not understood by others
because ours is a land unchartered.
We’ll lie to ourselves that our ideas are grand,
scheming our next revolutionary thought on what’s fickle because it’s all fickle; what’s under the sun;
they flicker, bloom and die, we all die
so while we can, we’ll stay locked up in your room
where your maroon walls are all we see when we bother to come up for air,
we’ll leave the world out there
on your doorstep,
fighting to invade our space with the rudeness of reality’s wet blanket,
but it’ll take only our sunsets
to expressly relieve us from these four walls of our non-confinement.