If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro’ narrow chinks of his cavern.
William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell
Baby you got to wipe your lenses
I ain’t talkin’ bout just them glasses neither
Got all this soot talkin’ bout you can’t see clear
Can’t see it for what it is, just what you think
Walkin’ round like folks out here tryna get you
Like they aint got they own battles they losin’
See the thing about the world baby
It’s crueler than you could ever conceive
And kinder than you could ever imagine
Make sure you wipe ‘em lenses real good baby
Rub the glass down to its bone
You gonn’ see your reflection
Realize what you see ain’t the world
No that ain’t the world baby
That’s just
You
