I've always been an optimist.

In my world the truth holds the highest degree of honor,
and wherever the truth shows up everything else bows
down.

However, a tyrant is beginning to dominate the universal
law of what runs my universe, and the truth is becoming
worse and worse to face and to say.

It is no longer that he shows up to respect,
I now greet him as a foe and a mistake, cursing
the times that I have used him.

When he asks me why I disregard him all I can tell him
is that is is much easier to tell lies, and when you're so
weak and becoming weaker, it is much easier to hide
your cries.

The end is becoming clearer
Disaster is spreading wider above areas
The time of joy is finally a closure
Society has lost it's power

War is rumbling, errupting in any second
Mother nature is crying, deforestation at it's worst
Earth is collapsing, balance is thrown off
Peace is dying, anarchy starts rising up

The leaders become corrupted
The idiots become famous
The truth-tellers become executed
The innocents become jobless

Paint me in your favorite  colors
Because what your eyes see is what's beautiful in me
so would you keep looking
when I'm happy when I'm sad when I'm mad
Just keep looking at me

and paint me in your favorite colors ..

You're a thought I'm trying to explain
you're like a melody stuck in my brain
you're there but it's hard to keep you there
but I want you there
I want you to be there

If you ask me how I am I'll say fine,
even though I feel like I'm losing my mind.

My life is like a meadow with a dipping sunset behind it,
with flowers and birds and trees, and as I run through it
trying to grasp the beauty all around I close my eyes to blink
for one second of tranquility and I fall to the ground.

A wall has replaced where care should be. The world keeps spinning
and I keep moving through its daily notions when all the while I feel like nothing
more than an ant caring too many crumbs, and although the ant cries for help
no one can hear him -- he is too small to mean something.

People put crumbs on the ant, assuming that it can take it. Everyone should feed
ants. It's charity work. Let's all be nice, let's all pretend it is all okay.

Feed the ant more and more, ignore how it is slowing down with every
footstep. What seems a mere crumb to you, another mere comment added to
the pool of them, is a mountain of weight manifesting its way through the mind. A crumb is another thought for the night. Don't worry about the ant; he will take it with a smile on his
face to hide his pain. But he will drop them all in the night, when he runs into the wall
of destiny that greets his accomplishments and crushes them. He will always
be a slave, he will never have a rest.

My life has become a wall, and I am the ant.