Something cracked behind the glass,
whispers spilled where truth once passed.
Now every voice wears a different mask,
and no one dares to even ask.

The sky says one thing, ground says two,
fact feels old, and lies feel new.
We scroll, we shout, we spin the wheel,
but no one's sure what's fake or real.

The past is a fog, the future's already sold,
the present's loud, and bought in gold.
Eyes wide open, minds half-closed,
everyone's certain, but nobody really knows.

Once, we sat with slow, clear thought,
built ideas that couldn't be bought.
Now it's noise in every lane
opinion dressed up as a train.

Truth's on vacation, Reason's gone,
she packed her bags and moved along.
Left a note: "It got too loud,
too many preachers, too much crowd."

So here we are in flashing light,
each side sure they're in the right.
But deep inside, we all can feel,
the quiet voice that used to heal.

It hums beneath the clever spin,
waiting for the world to let it in.
Maybe one day, soft and slow,
we'll miss the truths we used to know.