Drunken fantasy, up all night. A taste of this wine got all of us drunken on this fantasy. Been fantasizing of this white men’s dream, his world, his way. He got all of us hypnotized on this American dream and the pursuit of it. We haven’t been able to shake this spell.
Since we started the chase, it has been a never-ending pursuit, but never materializing. It was a trap from the start, but we’ve been drunk from the idea. This fantasia got people dying on boats just to come chase the fantasy, exchanging one hell for another. But they didn’t notice because we are still drunk on this fantasy.
Only to become a worker bee in another man’s paradise. But we’re drunk as hell, and it’s a sabbath. We bow our heads and give thanks for the system. Is it too late to turn the clock? When the cerebrum tries to jerk us awake, then we remember our paradise has been turned into a nightmare.
Do we go back and fight for her? No, we sip another glass and forget. Because turning our backs is much easier. Hope they don’t catch us. The night is young, we stay drunk, but the vibration moves the code and the spell is broken.
Dawn will come, then we wonder why we stayed drunk for so long. Then the warrior will rise through the pain of the drunken night, and the seers will pierce through the veil of lies. Then the Vatican will weep.
The drunkards are awakened. What shall we do? Who has broken the spell over the sheep and awakened the beast? Who has obtained our number? Who has put in the code?
But it’s too late because the people have awakened from the drunken spell.
