Sometimes I feel I was born too soon,
That I missed the days that I would excel.
This world's too fast for me, it blows by like a dusty wind that makes it hard to see.

One hundred years ago I'd be soldier,
Two hundred years ago id be a farmer.
Simplistic ideals and actions for non simplistic men, real work for real reasons.

Working part time is better than nothing I know, but god I feel as if I'm wasted.
This world is one of waste, in food, in water, in everything. But not back then.

So long ago a man would be used up or else he wouldn't be used, work or die.
Today we are offered an inbetween that holds us both, physically and emotionally.

I wish I could go back when it was all decided for me from day one, no choice.
I don't know what I want to do, and it's that freedom that's holding me back, the choice.

Bomb for a bomb and the whole world goes blind.
But sure, it's not my house collapsing, so I don't mind.
An entire terrace brought down without a care.
I guess our children are more important than theirs.

When under attack, by all means defend.
But a good offensive's impact extends.
The young afraid of the sky will grow.
Their memory won't be impaired you know?

So by fighting back we create our foe.
First hand, future generations will know.
Bomb for a bomb and the whole world goes blind.
Blind from the past, blind from its victims, blind.

He spots his prey in the gloom of the dark,
He approaches teeth showing.
His wits are Sharp like polished fangs,
His thoughts solely on hunger.

She is unaware of his fixated eyes,
As she looks to quench her thirst.
He approaches with caution and mimics,
He sips purely to put her at ease.

He pounces, she is overwhelmed, subdued,
He drags his prey to his den, time to fed.
They pant and moan and cry out,
As they finish their intimate act.

He's full, she's used up, it's done.

Its not your actions
that define you instead the
colour of your kerbs.

Built to protect the city,
Strong and sound for four hundred years.
But today it's meaning differs,
A spot for drinking with your peers.

Graffiti cakes it's surface,
The cannons no longer fire.
But every day I walk the walls,
It's ancient stones inspire.

To imagine men fought and died
Within and outside these bricks.
And now they're covered in paint and bottles, due to us, what a bunch of ******.

But this stone will outlive me and you
And in that it will always win.
Because it's hard and has been through more than alittle indulgence, and alittle sin

This sky has secrets, how could it not?
It's seen plague and wars that others forgot.
It leaks this light in its sheet of black
But why so little? why hold back?

This sky keeps to itself, it stores its wonder
And still I'm in awe of this ceiling I'm under.
If your dust is me and my dust is you,
Then why do I feel so small in this nocturnal view.