The information you spread is pretty boring my dear.
Are you trying to hurt me or simply to jeer?
For those who asleep or those who are warring
Every fucking day, every fucking morning.
The information you share was digested awhile,
It can't shock any more, cannot touch or make smile.
It just brings irritation or some kind of a bile
And it sounds like - No way! What a clever fucking style!
The treasures you've found, about art, past and youth,
About power of nature or night sky on the roof
Doesn't attract and tastes like a spoof
Because all of it, simply leftovers in truth.
To be dumb like a stone and as mole to be blind,
How does it feel? What it is like?
To catch tiny reflections of another man's mind,
Does it make you feel proud of your glorious kind?
