A man, standing tall and proud;
But still spares some change.
A pompous suit, and leather shoes;
But aids those in need.
A devious grin and a glare that kills;
But shares for greater good.

He's not superhuman,
And nor he is deceptive.

Which we've all forgotten,
The man, standing tall and proud,
Is the last of humans.

Sticks and stones will break the skin,
But tears will make it rotten,
Cuts and bruises - they will heal,
But memories will haunt you.

Hate math, so do I
But one thing I shall say for the least I make:
The variable of "a" equals itself.
Same goes for English, with all the definition and all the fuss.
A word does equal itself directly, basically a equals word and a equals a.
Something being possible is, in fact, possible.
Something being juicy is juicy.
Something good is good.
Something bad is bad.
But what 'bout impossible.
Something impossible is impossible.
What does that mean?
Impossible itself is impossible.
This is the only thing math and grammar was useful to me:
Learning that impossible itself is impossible; that everything possible.
So if you say something is impossible, you just confirmed it's possibility.

What is the point of heaven
What is the point of hell
Heaven is the land of dreams
Hell is the land of screams

Now what is this reality
A place we can call living?
A place that everyday we stand for dreams and screams
Just to realize in the end it doesn't matter

As far as we can tell we fear the tomorrow we want it or not
For it does hold an unseen future for an seen past
That is the point of living, taking chances
Every day giving you a fortune cookie of live or death

What about hell
What about heaven
Everyday is the same in every countless division
No matter what you do you know your future's granted
Always know what's right behind you,
Always know your fate is sealed,
Everyday is a leisure or a seizure, does it matter?
When you realize everyday will be the same
What is the point of caring whether you want to end up in
Heaven or hell, a repeated senseless life in regulated borders
When reality is the place to care for with a wheel of fortune standing upon you everyday

We all have fought this far
To live another day in this realm of despair,
To have another breath in a land of make believe,
Just so we can collapse at the dawn of war

What is the point of joy
Just knowing it will last for ticks,
Taking it for granted as your eyes shred tears
As you realize it's all granted as a toy to play

As you fight, you stand your side
You realize the colors fade away
As your feet fall down you stay and sway
The sorrow coming from the trivial made

We collect and hide in decoys,
The pain and sorrow goes away,
But scars and memories do stay
In our minds and hearts of sticks

Then you wake up and stand up everyday,
Go repeat the day after yesterday,
What is the point of a yesterday
When there's nothing new today

We fight a trivial battle with our dire epoch
We run we sweat we fall to see another sunshine
We laugh we cry we frown to call ourselves a human
Just so we die.