How can you be sure?
How do you think you know?
Is it not just a lure?
Are we all just dough?
Can we all be modelled?
Do we really not wonder?
But can we be compelled,
To think like all other?
To accept broken facts,
To not question at all,
These are blury maps,
Which will mean our fall.
For long is the night,
Of he who does not know,
And harsh is the bite
On those that do not grow.
