Saturday, 22 May 2010

A walk-on part in a cage.

Years ago, you made a choice. Against the current; against the grain; staring right into the sun. Putting on your rebel shades. Flaunting your mutinous tattoo. Walking straight down the Floydian path.

Long down the untrodden road, at a point of no return, the fallacy dawned. Turns out, what you thought was your world was but a Truman show. A cage controlled by puppet masters with no strings attached. There was never a lead role. There was never a war.