Fantasy has become the silver chord that reality mimics with every word

Why draw the line in a search for a perfection that will find its own kind of rejection

Will keeping my eyes closed change the direction already ordained

Who in the hell chose the word *trained*

Watch me step back in my boredom looking through eyes that see betrayal

Do you notice the way that my smile never finds my eyes, what a surprise

The passion that screamed for release has become a quieted beast

My mind seeks no new diversion to entertain this dispassionate body that traps me

I close my eyes to let the internal sway try to find it's way

There is no rhythm that the heart can match with the soul, no role

All has become a game like it was before my arrival, fun not survival

My Intellect has become the weapon that will beat my integrity

Looking into the mirror of my future is a mockery that I must face, in disgrace

Even I am almost ready to laugh at my own ideology, stupidity

Fantasy and reality have nothing in common, that is the only common thing about them

Crossing the line is a kick temporarily but it kicks the hell out of reality

Stick to your play days, your ways, your fantasys and dreams

Real days are like work days, even the pain actually hurts

Neither side needs the responsibility of taking weekend submission to slavery

So lock up the whips, the cuffs and the leather blindfolds, they are a bit more show than necessary

Ropes can tie as effectively and more economically

Silk scarves can block out most of the light, it's only a game, right?

Get  the wooden spoon from out of the kitchen drawer, why bother with more

When you have had enough of the game, plead a headache and we will both get a decent nights sleep