It's a rather pathetic feeling to be judged,
you feel miserable, hopeless.
Magic spells relieve the judgment, and
we are crowded with words.
Walls of marijuana paint the street,
Bodies merging to one in lower grounds.
These beautiful histories are slowly falling out of our torn bags.
Wars, treaties, sciences, humans, equations, languages are
tip toeing away
Fearful of my generation.
I pull them closer to me,
they still escape, as hard as I try.
We are losing societies, flames build our own.
I'm stranded in burns,
the pressure only grows from my generation.