Melancholic bubonic plague
Places stress in semblance
Of a euphoria resemblance
This beleaguered banquet
Dines on your own mind
But has in no way inclined
A finding of paradise
That is forever garrisoned
Till we are finally pardoned
Its philosophies lost
To many that now live
With only excuses to give.
Their pathetic pasturage
Grows impure crops in the field
And hate for man, there’s to wield
Lost from poetry
There are books to burn
And lessons to unlearn.
Look to that flame
And know that freedom is dying
And to yourself you are lying.
Left to man
It is true we are not kind.
2005
Brain In The Jar 
That is some great use of language. 2005 is some kind of vintage year isn’t it.
Thanks, not a year I hope to repeat again
We all got times like that, I guess you’re okay with it enough to post on the subject, which is good.