Like the water wasted on green ground,
To our moral virtues we are bound,
And as we come to turn the other cheek,
People love to push us till we no longer stand on two feet,

There’s an error in playing nice these days,
As humanity crumbles in all it’s ways,
Nobody does appreciate your troubles,
And how holding back is your struggle,

When it comes down to being the better person,
Man always must think twice,
Because on our heart we put too much exertion,
In walking away and being nice,

Like rugs we are kept,
Treated with pure contempt,
Because to pretend like its all fine,
Keeps a person walking on a thin line,

I will give credit where credit is due,
But no longer can this heart rue,
For the people it had not put on their places,
Or had not Just knocked back down a few paces,

But to the world of the cruel,
I am not your cowardice tool,
And on your actions my heart will not linger,
So all I have to say is “here is my hand, now pick a finger.”