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The Existential Gentlemen
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The Golems of Modern Renown
I bleed, I feel
Like nothing's even real
Our hopes and dreams
Are sent to us in tight beams
I am nothing
Without suffering
And we suffer so well
You'll find we're blind
Oblivious and likely
To mend our woes
With needles, pills, it might be
We are nothing
But the effigies
That we've made for ourselves
The jester's brigade
Is lost and afraid
And pray to their prophets in vain.
We think, therefore we are because we're told we're automatons. The Golems of Modern
Renown.
Like candles burning pipe dreams
We punish those that think themselves
Overworked, underpaid and
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making for the graves
That we dig for ourselves
Benign, divine
Misgivings render useless
Prophetic tomes
Made feeble by the masses
And I struggle
To be nothing
Now I'm a shell of me
No I won't be told
To join the brigade
Be lost and afraid
And pray to your prophets in vain
Judge not lest ye be judged by those with better sense
Do you have the strength to be yourselves
You're automatons constrained by your peers they're automatons
The golems of modern renown
Keep your god to yourself
Remember what he said
Blessed are the meek
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