Week 2: sacrifice (0-1) vs. Objective (0-1) \\ sacrifice wins 6-5

[sacrifice]

"I hope you wake up in time for the revolution." — Common

You ever felt despair? A hellish glare from the Self?
Wake up, lungs screaming from breathing the melted air.
It's time to break up the traffic on the avenue of hope,
enough money coming in, you never fathomed you'd be broke.
Choked from the stench leaking from atrophied will.
A question from the passions, asking...
When exactly you'd kill the habit? After these pills?
Another week passes and still...
The same sticky soles from the spills on the fabric of weakness.
Spinning cyclical revelation, a little magical sweetness
and you're back in traffic and speeding toward a battle with demons;
a force of madness and pretense.
Of course, you happen to need this,
'cause a quick pass and a deep hit and you're back on your feet.
No need for an added reprieve, just relax and receive this:
we've added a tweaked mix of euphoric extortion.
Our laundering technique is all the rage.
We'll keep just enough to perform the abortion and call it paid.
All in a day's tour, guided by dismay to leave you lost in the maze.
I'd talk for days about that awfully painful reward,
but we've all been blamed by somebody for somethin'
out to reclaim, with the gumption of a Russian,
territory lost due to some substance I fucked with.

They say history repeats, but that's ridiculous to me.
Every morning I wake up, and within me I repeat,
"It's time to get rid of this disease."

You ever felt the sanctity of comfort and peace?
Wake up, lungs free from the pungent extremes.
As time awaits us; hit the boulevard, to the park.
My beauty called for a rendezvous at dark,
something to eat, fine, but she's such a release...
the thought of her brings a blush to the cheeks.
Her mind, just engage her in discussion, you'll see...
Cupid's dart, through the heart, my memory serves;
I remember at first, I'd day dream, pretend to be hers.
She would tell me, "the slate's clean, no enemies here."
Then proceed to get me a beer, so empty, and clear.
Fate seems to want the companionship of freedom.
Compatible notions I reckon; this great feat,
the reins of the wagon embraced,
let this passion expose the suggestion
that the answer isn't peace because of hopeful inflection!
"I say we just do another," she spoke with an eagerness.
"I mean, we are just experiments in some cosmic Petri dish."

They say history repeats, but that's ridiculous to me.
Every morning I wake up, and within me I repeat,
"It's time to get rid of this disease."