Fukuyama

In the path I chose, I deal with blows, high's and low's
And my 95 theses that at times is verbose
Byproduct of prose that moonlights as ill flows
A canvas for me to expose and juxtapose

The way things are with the way things appear
More often then not, we don't see or hear clear
No use for reason, just instinctual base fear
The main catalyst for why we're even here

In the year of the end of history and the last man
The evil empire set to crush reason's last stand
Clap your hands and make noise for the last band
Enjoy it, because nothing can thrill us like the past can