The more I search,
the more I find,
and the less I find to be true.
My insomniac friend,
do you still have those sleepless nights too?

No I have not blew-- but I may need to.
I lost myself trying to become new.
All lies. All disguise.
They say we're not birds and
we aren't meant to fly.
So they make a living denying our wings,
and supplying our wings with impure things.
Killing us inside,
They always wanted us to die.

We were never given the right
To stay awake at night.
But the more I open my eyes
The less I want to die:
The more I want to fly.
the more I look at the map,
the more I see the trap.
The less I see the path.
The louder I hear them laugh.
If George Washington could fly then why, oh why, can't I?

My insomniac friend,
phone home if you can.
Aliens in this land,
waking up was not part of the plan.
So now we never sleep.
Birds don't know when to peep.
And devils don't know when to creep.
Myths pacify the babies of our misinformed, misunderstandings.
Celestial bodies hatch from shells of human beings.
There's a population in your vest.
You missed a button of your flesh.

My insomniac friend,
Do you dream while you are awake?
Do you cook or do you bake?
Under the pounding of the blood infused sun.
Do you water your garden with tears
that pour from the brow of your fears?
Do you search?
Do you find?
While the more you search,
The less you find-
to be true.