Some sheeple are white, others are black,
subject to all that comes with attack.
Not quite here and not yet there,
untasted potential strewn everywhere.
For better or worse, in any language of words,
there's just two directions in each and all worlds.

We have inward and outward, and a blend thereof,
when we get it just right, it's something called love.
The good kind where you know you can always go,
the place where they take you... because it's home

Some of us do and some of us don't,
and some of never know why.
At the end of it all in the seasons of time,
when all you've sought is still ripe on the vine,
some of us do and none of us won't
a few of us know, while most are not told.
When the answers come just a day too late,
it's not quite so easy to appreciate,
that each of us knew to teach it anew,
as the parent so too the child grew.

And so here we stand a divided nation,
wrapped in the thrall of corporatization.
If blood's thick as water, or more in support of,
the bonds of your birth and all that they're worth,
then each day must carry astride its fine dander
all that your egos demand that you pamper.

Spoil your child in belief of tomorrow
glazing past warts of monstrous sorrow.
We can only look inward or outward at once,
just a handful of minutes between hero and dunce.

The key is not golden nor glistened to ash,
and yet more value's found underneath its mask
of must and mold through aoens of time,
handed down one by one from those who would climb.

Happier ever after is the moment and key
Carpe diem tomorrow, carpe memomentum right here.
This is the moment containing that key
emboldened with lifetimes of guarantee.

Look north and south, search in and and then out.
you will find it we know, without a doubt.
Inward and outward are the only two,
choose with care, child of truth.
Your key is right there in the palm of your hand.
Would that you could have and may yet understand.
Who turns the key outward and sees at last,
that no one's alone behind that mask.

Inward and outward, cursed and blessed,
no one's alone behind the mask.


Everything human, and all that's divine,
are the how the tunnel is traversed while entwined.
So gather your black sheeple, summon your white,
your best inclinations must empower sweet flight.
Black sheeple or white sheeple, they're all quite the same,
saving the blame ignites the fight to unite.