Brain Dead

The angles sing high from above

And their song calls me.

Tryin' to reach them

Through the light around me

Ends in failure

For my anchor remains attach.

Oh, mother, oh father,

Can you detach my anchor for me?

Only you, my parents, can.

I want to, and I must, go,

But my parents are blinded

By that artificial illusion

Crafted by machines.

That illusion is my anchor.

The angles continue to sing

Their call for me,

And I long to be with them.

Alas, I look at my anchor

And wish my parents would listen.

I wish I could reach out to them

And tell them about the anchor,

But I'm only a soul

Dying to dump an anchor

That I can no longer return to.

I have a miserable existence

Of listening to singing calls

And to hopeful parents

That know nothing of my suffering.

My anchor holds me

To this existence of limbo.

I just want to leave.

Then one day,

I feel my anchor loosening its grip

And I take this chance

To reach for the angels.

Finally, my anchor falls free

As a continuous sound echos through the room

Where my anchor stays.