Conduit of Circus Acts

Do you deem me irrevocable because I call you out on your bullshit?
I define my life in those whom I seem to confide,
Is that my reason for regrets or the shallow emptiness I find
In your eyes, at night - the bull and the tempter fight.
Is it the constable's problem or the people’s solution?
Don’t you tell me I’m crazy, the pictures you’ve stored away
Are just devices of the brain, memories mundane.

I sing, I sing, I sing because I have to, it’s not a choice of my own.
It’s a car wreck, a plane crash, the death of a million.
It’s a sadistic, statistic - ridiculous referendum.

Do you direct the current of your maliciousness upon the pearly gates?
The ones that discerns hate?
I hate the conduit of circus acts, the blindness in context
In which we define whoever’s right

On the contrary
I don’t think such exists
There’s no canary who sings the right pitch
I prefer the dissonance, I prefer the dissonance
Over the simplicity of bliss, it’s only a quick fix -
So don’t you tell me I’m crazy, the pictures you’ve stored away
Are all cracked and muddy, they never once are the same

I try, I try, I try because I have to, it’s not a choice of my own.
It’s a blind man’s opinion, the author’s footnote,
It’s a paradoxical argument, in which I cannot define my own
Conscience.