Live tomorrow, tomorrow

The tryer dreams of a land that only exists in the tryer’s dreams
The tryer believes not in the land of the living
Nor sees a future in the tangible mess
The tryer laughs at its mistakes and cries at its hopes
As it predicts the tomorrows, it prepares for the worst

The tryer strives to evolve beyond a mere human body to a spiritual greater cause
The tryer is no more than a creature of sand and soil
A reversible piece of organized junk
A messed sixth sense that gives no power or value

The tryer fights its own blood and flesh
Tryer kills; dying in the process
The tryer wishes not for bliss
Nor sees a doorway to freedom
The tryer hears no good words
No good news

Only mystical fireworks inside the dark web that rules
The tryer keeps painting pretty pictures on soiled canvas
It wipes of the scribble marks on the white walls
It sweeps up the troubles under the carpet

To hide and be hidden
Secrets full of woe
It dwells on the hardest thing to do
Not to let it show