Gazing a stare to the man who sold the world,
I realised then;
my soul was already sold to the universe.
A place where the future is already told;
to a being who drinks the spirits of children who already know.
We think we are free!
Like the crow feasting on death;
like a cow grazing in the field,
drunk on vivid chartreuse blades of nourished lush.
We think too much;
we dream of a world free from cupidity.
All we want is a moment of opportunity,
gorged on feelings of trust which can never be too much.
Tricked by an offering to be everything of want.
Selling souls seemed easy enough
while entering a world offering way too much.
Seeing all with no way out beyond an unfamiliar realm,
all we can do is pretend.
The universe awaits my return,
but what will I look like without no soul?
A burden of overwhelming concern.
Only one man knows
the man who sold the world!