Ah… ah… Step right up… or step within… Religion paints a picture neat, a quiet hand beneath your feet, pulling strings you never see, telling you who you should be. The waking world walks razor thin between the flesh and what’s within, but close your eyes and drift away— the rules don’t follow where you stray. When you sleep, the veil goes thin, every path begins within, no one holds the map you seek— it’s written in the parts you keep. Not truth—just a mirror— I choose what I see. Every shadow, every shimmer belongs back to me. Spin it, twist it, let it fall, I’m not trapped inside it all, if it breaks or disappears— I’m still standing here. You, The Fool, the Magician’s hand, playing roles you barely understand, calling tools your sacred guide while the truth waits just inside. Clutch it tight, don’t let it go, that’s the only way you know, but what you hold begins to fade when it’s fear that shaped the blade. Loosen grip, let it breathe, you’re not what you’ve been taught to be, every answer you pursue has always been inside of you. Not truth—just a mirror— I choose what I see. Every fracture, every glimmer turns back into me. Laugh a little, let it spin, lose the mask, step within, if the tool should disappear— I’m still standing here. What if nothing held you still? What if choice was always will? What if every line you crossed was just a story you were taught? The fool was never powerless, just unaware of what it is, the jester laughs, not out of spite— but knowing darkness births the light. Not truth—just a mirror— I choose what I see. No more fear in the reflection looking back at me. Turn the wheel, let it play, I was never led astray, the evolution of the free begins with you… begins with me. Just a mirror… just a mirror… I choose… I choose…
