My body is formed
With the genes of the old tribe.
Long may they prosper

I'm a foreigner,
In the land I was born to...
So this is real pain.

People like to talk about love,
But only when they say it made them feel.
I once thought that I could live for one,
When it was over I knew it wasn't real.
We wipe our keyboards with ******, melting hearts,
And put them on the web for all to see.
Nobody ever stops to think and realize,
"The only one I've ever loved is me".
I may very well be a psychopath,
But I think we know that love is drug abuse.
Love is just a label for a feeling,
That's meant to make us **** and reproduce.

Have you ever heard of article three?
It sets apart the dos and don'ts of law.
It gives power to hear the people's plea,
And to ignore it, shred it with a claw.
The Constitution speaks for people's rights,
Of justice set for humans far and wide.
It is confused by those who're born in light,
and think it equal to live to misguide.
The mighty masters set apart our race,
And put their own ten steps above the rest.
The others ran so fast from their first base,
When slavers got to start by being blessed.
Justice will never live for those died,
So long as we seek justice for our pride.

We are made of parts.
We are made of organs,
Made of systems,
Made of molecules,
Made of atoms,
Made of nothing but themselves, truly independent.
We make up groups,
and groups can form communities,
Towns, Cities, Cultures, Species, Living things.
We all live on earth, a planet,
In a solar system,
In a galaxy,
We gave a name. As if we found it first!
As if it wasn't there before us, and won't be there when we're gone.
And there are a million billion galaxies,
With an infinity of stars,
With an infinity of planets.
Endless, gleaming life.
None of it matters.
It will all come apart

An old man walks the earth,
he fears nothing but terrible God.
His cane is beaten, his eyes are blind,
He is nothing but broken and flawed.
His knees are weak and wobbly,
His face was carved with pain.
He comes to a fork in the road,
Beneath the pouring rain.
Each path is equally pleasant,
To eyes and ears alike.
He hears the bustling tavern,
He hears the lightning strike.
His feet are tired of walking,
He knows he won't have long.
He sits down at the fork,
He sees his endless wrongs.
He takes no further paths,
He starts to see the light,
His son takes up his cane and pack,
And steps into the night.

None of you know who I am.
I am hidden behind a screen,
I am trapped inside your feed
and I will be here long after I die.
None of you will know me...
Right?
You can't.
We've never met.
And yet...
You know too much