Souls born precious as gold
Undoubtedly trusted
Growing nagging young and rusted
Forgetting they once were old
Think even advise will soon be sold.
We are all somewhat gone
Past virtuous innocence
In the name of renaissance
To being like abandoned carcass
Stuck in the quag of raucous
In the tombs of the dead
Where our conviction's never fed.
Like an extinct bird's inspirational song
Magnanimity hasn't visited for quite so long
We're lured to believe we are different
And that's what makes us the same
In one hell of a game
Yet not all our rules are the same
A Universe of Basilicans
Without a single-hearted preacher
A willing class of sophomores
Sadly in search of a Teacher  
Do we need to embrace even the strange
In the ****** name of change?
Or just follow prints of our forefathers
And soar with the old ostrich feathers?
Ain't no vanquisher without intentions
They say but some intentions are good
I might sound a little shroud or rude
Talk of my thoughts and questions
But from the look of every nation
Reflects a birth in a wrong generation
Remember when the world was "world"
Without boundaries of first or third?
Does thinking about it make you this sad?