It’s all scripted
The playwright’s got me on papers
My moves and ways drop by strings
My footprints are marked
An ordered step
The lights and cameras
Well yea I liked the idea
Ignorant of what it came with
Now I’m in a bottomless abyss
But surrounded by a crowd
Who are to grant my eveery wish
As if I had any
I heartily laugh at their meekness
For it does nothing
What wishes am I privileged with?
What orders have I to give?
My speech is sorted
Even beforeI speak
My clothes. My make up. My looks.
Planned and hanged
Needing to be picked up and worn
My life I read as lines
Action.
The lights glow. The carpets roll
My scripted life unfolds.
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