They told us we are free,
Capable of changing all we see,
Masters of our fate,
Sculptors of tomorrow,
With tools made of choice
And maps etched in will
It’s never too late to find our voice.
They handed us mirrors,
Called them windows,
Taught us to vote,
A choice in the clownshow,
A chorus of masks all painted for show,
Just noise in a system too broken to grow.
We scroll past hunger,
Swipe through war,
Stream genocide like a genre
And call it being informed.
“You saw. You know. You are responsible,” they say,
As if we even have a hand to play.
But we are tethered
To systems too vast,
To machines too smooth,
To powers too cloaked.
Each of us a droplet,
Told we are the sea.
Told we are free.
Meanwhile, the giants feed,
Corporations gorge on grief,
Turn crisis into content,
They market empathy,
Sell back our outrage,
Anything to keep us engaged.
Work, once sacred,
Just motion now.
We turn cogs that turn nothing
And call it survival.
There is too much,
Too many truths,
Too many hands reaching from fires
We cannot put out.
We are choked by abundance,
Starving for sense.
So let the bombs rain.
Let the sky split open.
If collapse is the only honesty left—
Let it fall.
Let it fall
And save us from this pain.