The Who

In dreams we hear the echoes
Of long-forgotten wishes
Spoken over birthday candles
When there were but a few
And somewhere we found our limits
And told ourselves we needed more
Until we stole the twisted life
From our earliest imaginings
So we could walk the social plank
So we could keep up with the neighbors
So we were success, self-sufficient,
Some robotic appendage of a corporation
Dressed as prescribed, crunching data,
Until we desire our own identity:
Comfort, primal screams, a lantern
That illuminates what hides in that cave
At the back of our subconscious,
The who, the what we wanted to be.