Like in an angry mob,
You become faceless, 'specially in a mask,
Or a work-a-day job,
With the comfort of sharing a vision,
For a common future,
The prospect of being the first union,
To fin'lly propose the perfect culture,
Though, obtaining the vision is diff'rent,
Than trying to live it,
The limiting factor of idea,
Is it's not real, is it?
It's just a wish,
Existing in your mind,
You stumbled upon it, seeking comfort,
From the physical blows of humankind.