They slave in their small room
for long desperate hours,
with visions of unwilling ghosts and spirits
fluttering around an asymmetrical angel
with flashing acid trips all 24 hours,
voices fill their heads with screaming,
lost in an ancient worship
of sound and movement.
Reality comes back and they
write, write, write, write,
then a very sudden light shines
down on their fragile faces.

They feel a bad vibe
and they say, "I'm insane. Ha! Ha! Society."
Then he feels a moment of freedom,
and darkness slowly crawls
over his small room.
He says, boldly,
"Who has the last laugh, Society?
Who has the last laugh?"