If humans were octopi, what would be our ink?
A cloud of words, just shout out what we think?
If we were sharks, we would not smell blood,
But rather discounts in stores in their bud.
If we were mollusks, what would be our pearl?
A kidney stone collection from every boy and girl?
I could go on and connect these dots,
Argue and discuss and tie some knots.
Then make a cult of human-fish belief,
Move out to sea and life on a reef.
Tell my followers to “Embrace the fish inside!
The ones with weak faith are the ones who died!
If you believe in our sacred connection,
You can breathe water, a life of perfection!
Prior to trying, a small change of will.
Just a formality for the life amongst the krill.”
I can claim this, I totally can,
Convince some down-on-their-luck fellow man.
They will die, I’ll get rich,
Whoops, that happens, life can be a bitch.
This is how I feel every single time somebody talks about the supernatural (religion, life after death, you name it). Especially when it’s often connected to some sort of payments, as if it was the world’s crappiest pay-to-win game. Without the possible fun of playing, of course.