I pride my self
As being the individual
In the crowd of thoughtless clones
I wear what I want
I'll do as I please
I even transcend the stereotype
But who am I really
Am I still a figure
Statistic in the great book of life
Do I even really exist?
Does anyone
We all follow
Under some false pretense
Or another
A leader is never born
We follow he that follows another
How do you achieve
That which is unattainable?
To be unique is still just following
Every other hypocrite
And being the same is worse
Which path could be chosen?
For the least resistance
Is it even worth the fight?
To only find out one day
Your struggles and battles
Were all for naught.
The lines are drawn,
The Battlefield Pretension
Each is armed
With their own unique method
Being the same or different.
The bigot and the hypocrite now stand
In the midst of their enemies
Their misconceived weapons of destruction
Drawn in a phalanx
Of hate and foolish pride
Death is the only victor
Death takes all

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