I was made for war
My hands are soft, my lungs are weak
I was made for war
I have no discipline, I live to feed my flesh
I was made for war
My mind………my mind………………
It still contains the coal
Hot, burning, aware, remembering that
I was made for war
My leathered soul, dust covered, grey still burns
I feel it whisper, because
I was made for war
Lord, Oh my Lord
Harden my hands
Open my lungs
Discipline my mind and
Teach me to starve my flesh
Because
I was made for war*.

[Ephesians 6:12-13]

The world is in a dead awkward silence
everyone looked at the aggressive brutality and cruel violence
They wondered to themselves how did they get here
without even realising there were people pulling their strings like a masquerade puppeteer

Can you imagine a world without anything but just broken gravel?
Living in fear of just catching nothing but just the common cold rattle
Growing up to learn the destroyed world and be nothing but just to grow old..
Change the time of you which you live in now
technology just complicates our lives and our true knowledge

Before everything just becomes nothing but bitterness and displease
will it then maybe shock you? And come ten times worst as respiratory disease

Child of anger,
of wrath and strife,
why are you angry,
full of hate towards life?

Do you not take everything you have,
for granted in your hands?
Why do you have so many questions,
when you make so many demands?

I wish you nothing, but only the best,
if only you'd take the time,
to pass the test
of patience.

I'm nothing special, not wise or a sage,
I'm just a man,
just another character,
speaking on the stage.

But while I'm here, and whilst I live,
I ask you child,
why are you angry?
What is it that I can give?

To you my child, to quell your burning fire,
how can I help you,
walk off the high-tight wire?

Child, I hope and I pray,
that you'll find peace within yourself,
and others around you,
I hope, for your sake,
that you'll find peace with and among yourself,
this I pray,
to happen to you
for you,
one day.

Child stay the anger,
and put away the hate,
turn away from this path of destruction and misery,
before it's too late.

My child,
my sweet,
why are you angry?

As you mutter to your feet.

Why
oh why,
are you angered so?

If there's anyway I can help,
please, oh please, I beg you please!
Let me know!

Why are you angry?

love the boy who paints–
who harnesses the power of the spectrum
and brings life to his views
on the world

admire his colourful fingers
and lead stained hands.
he didn't mean to fray the
brushes like
he frayed your heart strings.

he only wants a little life
in his body and soul.
he paints with you in mind.
and when you see the crumpled up
tubes on the floor
of his bedroom,
know that they reflect
his efforts to make you happy.

Our ribs are cracked but
The real pain lies inside them
Where broken hearts sit