Layers of reality compressed so tight.
Dripping through in cold points, like needles.
Punctured in the wounds filled with all but truth.
Impressions of coexistence, layers of unity.
Fakeness and delirium pass for all the truth.

These are surgical teams, working in their last hour,
Cutting up the fabric, stitching back the horror.
Mixing up threads setting up trends.
Oh, with their glamorous tools they party like fools.
Disease is likely to spread, keep your fork out of my bread.
No, humans have a pathological desire, to live among each other,
Only to fill them up with desire, in turn inhibiting their brain like fire.
Everyone on a different layer, all want to aspire,
That the truth is what they alone desire.
Ripping from the corners that they find disturbing,
Only to find that the truth is returning.

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