The Smasses

jubilant january

Geniuses are the ones who steal the truths

From figures in the air guessing at everything

latching on like a leech

For the same reason that they hate the self

They break your shelf

And the piggy bank they've been leeching from

Crashes to the floor

Oh forbidden fruit

Of unknown truths

A sight, your thoughts

The written proofs

Belonging to the dead

Or long forgotten

Weigh heavy on the masses

The masses the masses

They that we know

And we that they own

Are intertwined in a sublime idea

Or a concept

And the product of a perfect relationship

Results in economic wealth


The fake image of success

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