Pale lights
Strike down around me like moonfire
I wonder how they're doing
I wonder how they're doing

Will my words someday
Be enshrined in the tombs
Of thousand letter books
Where will I be then

And will they embalm me
In book awards and fame
I don't think so
I'm not all that much
I''m not all that special

Rome has set on the sun,
Spreads the rays of its streets
And the warmth of its torches.
Caesar commands nightfall come,
To make florid incense and wine
And talk as one full of the moon.

Everyone thinks
Being bored is cinematic
It's not
Just boring
Cuz what's so cool
About sitting in my room
Next to a massive pile of laundry
Thinking idly about doing things
Knowing I won't
I don't see the appeal
It's not that I hate this
I'd just rather
Be doing anything else

The world's ablaze
Filled with rage
Mother nature is to blame

Not your God who is supposed to save
Not your God whose hands create
It's mother nature, the one who gives

Mother nature, the one who shares
Mother nature, the one who loves
Not your God who turns his back, no

The God who cares more
About your "unholy" bedroom life
More about your uncharitable deeds
Than he does the state of peace

Blame it on our mother
Who gives us her breath so we may live
Who gives the fauna from her back so we may eat
Who is crying silent tears so we can drink in peace

Yet you praise God
For his Mercy
For his 'generosity'
While he steals all her credit

Our dying mother, mourning her broken body all alone
While we dance across her continent sized bruises
And blame her abuse on herself alone