These Lenses

My glasses and lenses,
They must see the world at a differant pace.
You see, when I put them on,
The world tends to dissapate.

Maybe it's all the smudges?
This I doubt.
With all the cracks and residues,
It's the smudges for which I couldn't see without.

What sort of land is this?
All these people with fractured faces?
And here the radio tells me,
It's the same in sll the places.

So maybe it's the best
That I can't read these headlines.
For if I found that I could,
I'd surely want to be blind.