Everything is wrong until it’s not.
With your temperament, the world around you
and all that you’ve got invested in this life,
it is all going to rot, and the more
worms eat away the more you detest
so busily detesting that you forgot
that everything is wrong until it’s not.

Everything is wrong until it’s not.
People queuing to put their voting slip
into the ballot slot are inwardly complaining,
about whomever and what are they plan
to do and how they’ll explain, nothing is plain,
and thinking in plain terms, you forgot
that everything is wrong until it’s not.

A heart fails to start, no cry in the operation room.
Occupied by just I, this is less a home than tomb.
Maledictions in the curtain, heard from the floor.
Contradictions make uncertain what I knew before.
They pass away, pass us by, the past is left unresolved.
They disappear and go missing, cases still unsolved.

Everything is wrong until it’s not.
You thought you had it under control but now
you’ve lost the plot, you’ve lost your map and
X marks the spot and you’re selling out,
dropping out, ready to snap, you snap
at the world, it snaps back, and you forgot
that everything is wrong until it’s not.

Nothing is alright.
Life’s an endless fight.
It’s that or flight--

and the war was all around you
but the last gunfire is shot.
The bullet goes right through.
So you just keep on going too
and now somehow, despite
that on your back there’s a spot
you swear was put there: targeted
and misled and kept up all night
with voices in your head blaming you
aiming for you when you’re in full sight-
This war will all seem so contrite
When you stop placing blame,
and everything is alright.

In the operation room, the baby cries.
Anticipating doom, you told yourself lies.
You won in the end, after so many tries
You begun, in the end, to see the sunrise.
There are some things we’ve yet to realise.
Each realisation brings a surprise-

You fought so long and took on a lot