My “imagination”

Cause i walked past yesterday, on my way home, I saw them and had a go at them,

Well, when you’re swatting flies away, your gesticulations seem wild, granted,

In wild emotion, I wanted them to leave me alone, go away,

They’re perfectly human, if human as the perfect form, could be said to be,

They’re there, but are they, if humans perfection, real, in truth?

But like something I made up, as if in a psychotic episode,

I imagined humans had turned into a swarm of flies, 

Maddened, and yet still able to talk, like humans casting accusations,

They’ll be telling you I’m mad, now,

Cause that’s the kind of thing flies say,

And it’s not bizarre is it, the freaks believe, it makes me not gay?

They say

We’re not real! she’s making us up! we’re a figment of her imagination!

We’re in her mind, so we must be a lie, ourselves, to us,

We cannot be real, can we, when she is?

Baah! what’s the use, our obfuscation’s our untruth,

But we must! we must! prove her unreal as us!

Therefore they swarm, psychosis from my mind, like some wormhole, moving over to you, my love,

Like the devil sent a swarm of flies, who can whisper,

To madden you, perfection of the perfect human form,

In power of suggestion,

So g, we were wondering, we wanted you to ask, who does the girl she think she is, anyway, making us up?