High Wall

Concern for yourself,
Unaware of your own experience.
The world works by rules,
So why would you question them.

You ended up in the place that you left.
Nostalgia of being trapped at best.
Your job is to help your brethren below,

By crushing their lives into a box that you own.
You're a tool of the world,
Used for obedience.
To force control in a world where control isn't needed.

You haven't learned a thing,
In all the years you've lived.
You repeat the same mistakes,
Because your parts are made of tin.

There're people who pull your strings.
An institutional thing.
They whisper in your ear,
And your duty is to do.

Below are your brethren,
Or are they your minions?
You need to help them,
So let's stick them with pins.

You see their tears,
Oh dear, don't cry.
Wipe your eyes,
And write on the lines.

Cramming and jamming,
And stuffing your brain hole.
Formal, no fun.
Listen, too humorous.

You need to tie yourself down,
Your head's in the clouds.

Breathe in the sound,
Of your heart hitting the ground.

Sit in a line:
Boy, girl, boy, girl.
A space in-between.
A clock ticking past.

Your job as the shepherd,
Is to herd the sheep,
But some will be goats,
So 'follow' we'll teach.

You are correct.
You can't be otherwise.
There's no other option,
Not for people who want lives.

shove, shove, push,
Come along now pet.

There's a corner to hide your head in.
We're your only friends.
We'll give you some help,
It's called study, or is that called hell?

Now that you're broken and bent to our will,
Here's a high wall for you to climb,

Don't mind that your feet end in hooves,
If you believe, you'll be fine.