This place is a desert for the mind
Devoid of emotion and barren of thought
No real thought, at least
It's no surprise
Most minds here have long since atrophied from lack of use

They wait in flatline for the next rushing jolt of synthetic stimulation
The real world can't compare, even if it were allowed to
Contemplating the real world leads to seeing the world for what it is, a prison
A cell for the mind, body and soul

All my life I've been a prisoner
Cowering at the idea that I might be capable of unique thought
Terrified of what my own instincts might lead to
So how could I blame them?

But it hasn't always been this way
I've heard rumors
Filtered, distant, faded
I seek to know the truth