Thought I had become nearly as hard as brass
As my mind drifts aimlessly throughout the grass
But still, the pressures of the world continue to hammer
Yet who is to argue a diamond’s beauty and glamour?

For at the end of the day, I’ll be crushed into dust
And my soft flesh-bag form is all but robust
And the perfection of a stone that withstands the cold air
Is subject to pressure but continues without a care

The diamond is pure; the diamond is correct
We all ought to give it its deservéd respect
Because a diamond has no weakness or any sort of flaw
Unlike the simple humans that gaze at it in awe

I can almost hear it speak; give it your full attention
As it so rightfully boasts without a slight hint of pretension
That my sad pouring eyes and my chaotic plagued mind
Resembles nothing that belongs to its perfect carbon kind.

So mine mine mine out the caves in your brain
As the diamonds dryly watch as you all go insane.