The Prophet hands me a choice; Blue, green, yellow, pink?
Each brightly colored pill promising something unique
Will I grow, or will I shrink?
Will I fly. or will I fall to the floor?
Sleep for hours or sleep never more?
I ponder my options, I debate which delight
Fade into darkness or burst into light?
He grows impatient, weary of my lack of decision,
Normally I choose with speed and precision
But what do I want to feel today?
Which type of pain do I want to fade away?
His hand starts to shake and close
So I grab the closet, that pink, that beautiful rose
Today I will float midair, unencumbered by fear
Dancing with joy, impressed with a mirror
The pill slips down my throat and I smile
He smiles back with a fair bit of guile
I don't know why until I feel it take hold
And I sink and sink, growing cold
A trick! The Prophet, what has he done?
Our leader, our hero, our chosen One!
My eyes dim, and my life flashes with sins
And this is where the real story begins.