The world sometimes to me
Seems like a kitchen sink
With problem dishes piled high to the rim

Clogging up the drain
In the name of placing blame
With no one willing to wash them

Where soon enough we find
We've left the crust to dry
With the ***** secrets that our dishes have

With no way to rinse
And even if we did
There still would be the lingering stench

Leaving them there
Year after year
No one willing to roll up their sleeves

And lend a helping hand
To clean up the mess of man
We've all made in the world's kitchen sink