Where the Crows Gather - Shedding Skin

This sense of self, comes from illusion.
Of the fabric, of the material.
And we live, helpless.
In this state of blindedness.
From our, true being of emptiness.
So allow suffering, to bloom inside.

As the seasons change, so does does my mind.
Attempting to grasp at nothing, identity assigned.
And as the image grows, the soul decays and dies.
So release the bonds found within your broken eyes.

I stand tall amongst this crow,
Purified by the ego’s death.

Shedding skin, like the snake.
The wounds reveal just what was fake.
This false pretence, you lived so long.
Just to dance to another’s song.

An utter disgrace is humanity,
Searching for truth in their vanity.
But for so long, has it ever been there,
Not in the clothes the wear, or in their fucking hair.