Joker: Fitting with your
writing fingerprint
WV: Am I just a
fingerprint? Trying to read the lines to see my face in it..
Joker: You're not just a
fingerprint, but no one else has yours. Or your face.
WV: Maybe in the space
between the lines and the grooves, there's room to improve.. What do we have to
lose? Will you wear the mask that they choose? We're the fools- they tell us
its cruel to rule and then they'll run the game, coward kings life-lined to fame..
Joker: My smile is my mask. I
am the all licensed fool. Whipped all for truth, lies, and for silence all the
same. So I simply present the truth in the best illusion I can find for you. My
eyes make others blind. Shade of the coldness and the kindness in my heart.
Kings would never understand.
WV: And is it by their
hand that we fall and rise and dance? Puppets on string have no chance to break
free.. ostensibly the only lack is maturity to clear mind-fogs to clarity, but
that ‘truth is lies’ is a verity..
Joker: Or do the puppets
control the hand? Bending its fingers to their will. Demanding that the hand
make us move. Or is or freedom in our coexistence with the string toting glove
of the crooked kings? We dance as their muscles cramp and ache. Where is the
master?
WV: Or do the puppets
control the hand? Bending its fingers to our demand. How do we stay still as
they try to kill our free will by forcing us to dance, dance, dance? Perchance
they make us sing, automatically tuned to hymns praising idol-ed glories..
forcing myths to stories.. ah, but is not life a game?
Memento mori.
Joker: The hand could never
sing for itself. All it leaves behind results in nothing more than a church
made of bones. We are the spirit of what they overdue. I know no hand who can
speak, can sing, can think like you. So if true and lying be the head and tails
of the rotating flat circle, then I'll leave it to fate to decide my reaction.
But still no hand crafts the allure of your song and dance. Puppet or not.
Lucky Joker gets the last word.
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