"well then who am I?"
"You're the slave! Wandering the land
hoping to find the right cure,
oh, but your hope in medicine is futile,
nothing more than poison from a golden cup"
"well if hope shouldn't be in the medicine, then where?"
"It must be in yourself"
"you mean in you?"
"No I am common, I am right,
You must look for the wrong, you must make
a chromatic attempt at saving your life,
at living your life,
take the unwanted, the sick, the poor, the disadvantaged,
place them in your life as if they where in your life,
add color to your time,
"but what else to tell me my meaning than the medicine?!"
"if you go looking for the medicine to give it to you,
You'll find nothing more than a drugged experience;
a hallucinogenic feeling that makes you feel special.
You and your simple mind,
confusing synesthesia with divinity!"
"Well what else is there to see, to be!
I am nothing more than a slave, nor will I ever be"
"then why bother asking who you are,
if you'll always be afraid to be?"