The Artist

Always seeking solace in the physical
I do implore, "Is there more?"
To what we are, no answer
Sate my urge
Clinging, scraping towards comfort
Would you prefer the answer or the question?
Possibility or permanence?
Process cycling or a predetermined path?
Pure reality or augmented?
Is this progress or a cycle
That I am bound to repeat?
Would you prefer the answer or the question?
Possibility or permanence?
Process cycling or a predetermined path?
Pure reality or augmented?
Always on the edge of something beautiful
Limitless ambition
I'm at war with what they say we are
We are more
We are more
They forgot the form of the physical
And the world they did not create
Lost beneath their works
Collective consciousness no longer hides