What kind of culture are we,
when it's the hungry feeding the starving,
the dying helping the dead,
the upset counseling the depressed?
This is world is coming to an end, I guess
I can lend a helping hand even if I'm missing fingers
But I've witnessed people bear arms before they reach out, figures
And when kind usually isn't,
We learn to survive with the life that we're given
And we usually give up before we give back
It's the ethics that we lack
And the fact that we never listen
Even if we're,
Talking our own conscience up on top of a steep building,
We don't know what to tell our self esteem
So he leaps and it kills him, but
He can't die on impact if he never made one
Or of a heart attack if he never showed love
And hopefully you have once because I know I have twice,
Just to fall on my own knife to fight the fear of blood
And twist it clockwise because hard times are realistic
And still no one listens, I'm asking why
But to me, nobodies telling
Why would this backwards both logic and spelling
It's like casting spells and praying within the same sentence
I'm life-sentencing myself away from the senseless
But when I grab a tape of the compelling,
So I push myself to be alone
As the hope come and goes like the ever blowing ghost of acceptance
The wealthy hung by a fucking rope
I'm hanging by a thread
Go ahead and pull it,
See what unravels me next
My ride will survive while I'm trying to keep my breath
Because I already lost my faith
I'm ready to chase the red-faced demon, they say
What if God was one of us,
But what if the Devil was in the same body?
What if I told you that body was yours?
Would you embody the fact that your reliable source is unknown,
and scriptures have been whispered, misheard like a bad game of telephone?
Everybody likes to talk, but not everone wants to listen
Turns the viable into a firestarter,
And a work of fiction turns the world into a place of fear and conviction
Where everyones a convict that sticks to their strict version of jurisdiction
And I can see the gavel slam in the way that you look at me
As you dissect and decide if I'm street smart or just street
Got me feeling like a bum and I'm bummed out, certainly
Certain things are best left unsaid
Certain things are best left dying
Dying is the only thing certain as a whole
When brain grow nothing but mold,
and nothing but gray and matter,
and nothing matters but nothing is cold
Dead culture of us
Death
Cold
