Why, Mr. Anderson

Why, Mr. Anderson Why, why, why Why do you do it Why, why get up Why keep fighting Do you believe you re fighting for something, for more than your survival Can you tell me what it is, do you even know Is it freedom, or truth, perhaps peace, could it be for love Illusions, Mr. Anderson, vagaries of perception. Temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without any meaning or purpose And all of them as artificial as the Matrix itself. Althoug