From the spirit of awareness,
while playing cold in the growing times of old,
doing right not seeming the farest,
And being so kind is often the rarest.
Breaking the stigma of a point of view,
and perhaps it is true of being the right thing to do.

Cause I may understand a lot, but a lot seems lost,
From paying the cost and gaining the loss,
of being cut off materials of the world of it's one cloth.
And how gracefully we fall right from the top,
when the minds are found but the hearts are so lost.

A stigma we break, till the breaking is broke,
while laughing at the world but you are the joke,
Losing my doubt, but more of my hope,
the actions I do they hardly be spoke.
Oh really, how do I even cope.

The stigma of flesh yearning for silver,
dull eyes dreaming of gold.
And pieces of debt to pay by being your Master's pleaser.
Had it been of my soul being sold, and likewise the world of being so cold.