wasnt the real question.
It was never a question,
of life or of death.
But thats what we've made it
all over time;
A complicated scramble,
a secret twist of words.
And though poison fills our minds,
a drug within a chalice,
We make an intelligent entrance,
and a very distinct goodbye.
Dark clouds loom over head us,
yet still we do remain.
Conversing about good things,
smiles plastered to demons faces.
Forever a goodbye ago,
someone did once care,
And i thought for once,
a theory by design would be welcomed
But this time lifes been seen,
as nothing more than
A Theory of Madness
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