Your sky is pink.
They're eating yellow grass.

I'm at the epicenter of chaos
Syringes for the sick and
Banks robbed by viruses
*** in the palm of my hand.
The streets paved with lies
are decorated by death.
And buildings built
by policies
to build policies (to fill prophesies)

Wicked water, and open wounds
Saturated diets and broken wombs
Your sky is blue
Their water is black
Children's eyes close and never look back.
There are snakes in the sand
Lightening strikes in the distance
I can't see where I stand
And the wind smells of something vicious

Your sky is grey
The loudest one in the room is the TV
Candy and coffee for breakfast.
I'd brush my teeth
But I haven't the time, dearest Siri -
Seriously though
Sometimes I question if I'm the canary
in this binary equation
wondering when it's going to cave in
But its cool, I can be patient.