The Real World Poem by Steven Brewer

my heart like the falling tide
my soul in my hands has just died
my fingers, they shake, and i cant seem to type
no one to help me on this walk of life

its the other way to
i cant help you
we are all on our own
we set our own tones

all of our minds are made for us
everytime we get on that yellow bus
no way to form opinions
not in this country or any other, we are all oblivious

we think we can rebel in the time that we have
but that wont change what the man thinks and hes glad
we are all just puppets who cant feel the strings
he wants us to rebel and try to change things

hes just a man at a desk in heaven or hell
you see he wanted us to form religion as well
he knew we would need answers and when he gives them he lies
as he and his partners play chess with our lives