originality is dead

sorry son
I'm not proud to say
originality is dead
who am I to state?

your words are vain
despite your efforts
you are still a kid
lost in the summer rain

you want to get wet
feel alive
feel something
stand the fight

ideas are dead
drenched, vain;
stung with half-heard
comments from the outside with disdain.

maybe if you step
out of your glass cage
the world stops looking like a game
and forges its will upon you

sorry son,
originality is dead
I buried her years ago
in my head

it is time you surrender
and follow my path
after all this time
we can leave past behind.