A man chooses
And so does the slave
So it has been since
The beginning of Days.

From the picking of the fruit
From the forbidden tree
Or from the explosion
That beget history.

Man has had but
One true problem;
That is the doom
Of his own freedom.

Choice, choice
Oh damnable choice
For in every moment of life,
The liver has their voice.

One can’t eat their cake
And the same slice possess;
As one can’t choose what’s right
And enjoy what’s left.

Any choice that brings
Pleasure, especially the strange;
Is harder to not choose,
If the chooser wants change.

Worst yet, any despair
Or time spent in pain,
The chooser, at the root
Have naught but self to blame.

Whether you believe it’s from God
Or man’s natural state,
No thinker should choose
To make the easy mistake.

Unlike simple beasts,
With instincts to lead,
Man is not blessed
But damned to be free.