They say that love is blind.
Evidently it also has no sense of smell.
And come to think of it,
Love has poor taste as well.

You will be okay.
...
The world isn't jealous of everyone, but you.
Under its golden crown, it expulses you from happiness.
You have found cell bars hiding you away from the plastic people
who haven't discovered that their hinges are coming loose.

The world isn't afraid of everyone, but you.
Under its golden crown, you aren't there.
The world thinks it has buried you
but the hinges are coming off.

The world is absolute,
flourishing massacres with its sharp tongue.
It explodes our rights, masking them like supernovas;
something needed for life to continue.

You'll be okay. Don't let them take you down.
Up above, in the skies far from Earth, there is a crown.
This one isn't golden, silver, blue or green.
It is our minds.

You'll be okay. I promise you.
Take back your thousand suns and be happy.
Knock the crown off the world's head and
claim the one hidden amidst the clouds.

Take it back. For you. For me. For everyone.
Retrieve our minds.
Once upon a revolution.
...
You'll be okay.