Rapid fire, now ambushed by formal liars,
Impatience becomes required in silence settled in choirs,
I cannot contemplate writers who sit in darkness when tired,
Faithful that they will be rescued by someone who wasn't hired,
Why does freedom even have taxes we wouldn't ever get back,
Places branding for fame and hiding all of their regrettings,
Yet looking right in the mirror and seeing the rising prices,
Taking fortune for its own while we're glaring at their dices,
I'm tired of ******* looking, breaking into all my dreams,
Killing them all completely,
Leaving me feeling empty...
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A moment of silence,
To those that belong,
A soul of potential,
Trapped within a song,
A right without vows and,
A will without bows and,
A place full of broken dreams,
Dead on the ground...
How do I sound...?
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We are so ******* now...