You know - I think the world unwell,
And it’s a sickness of the core-
Is it Heaven or Hell, have we climbed or fell,
And does anyone know whats in store?
Regarding the intermingling of rich and poor
Or those of any variant of such-
Is the deafening roar of unjust rapport,
A signal of humanity out of touch?
Or is it a simple fact that we’re stuck-
An unable collective at heart,
Out of luck and currency struck,
And unable to perceive our parts?
For there is a purpose in leaving our marks,
And in the end, all we can do is pray
That our sins go dark, the light will start
And tomorrow is another day.
You know – I think the world quite swell,
Cruel beauty is its stock and store.
Release your shell, your soul wont sell,
And I swear you are worth so much more.