The bright ideal illusion   Is spoiled by the dull   And narrow conclusion   The cost of time to toast the sublime   Has become a game and   Apparently it's been feeding the shame      I pace myself   But i run out of breath   The shame is wealth   My pockets overflow   The factories    Are manufacturing    My social death   Two pack of cigarettes   My face is shown   It's time for my escape   The shame has grown   It's colors paint landscapes   Contemplating   The flaws of my escape   Gratifying   My expanding clarity      Ad hominem   Attack the man   I could face the mirror   But I couldn't blame it either