I do things that people consider wierd, but living in a comfortable life, is better than living scared.
People stare as I crouch on my feet, reminding myself I will be home soon, under my covers and sheet.
I wear baggy clothes to hide,
Buried in the warmth, with my low riding pride.
But who is to say what's accepted,
When the world is corrupt and infected.
Yes, infected, by their image of life. Smoothed out like butter with a knife .
They learned to feel it is fine, to go abouts with materials things and fancy wine.
Rubbing their wealth in your face, scolding as if you don't try.. telling you you're a disgrace,
to the human kind.
That's what this world has come to, trampling their own for something to do.
While people like me just try to get by, without anyone noticing or batting an eye.
Curling up into my corner of the world, thanking God that i made it again. For this corrupt world might **** me in.
Fearing that society will point me out like at a zoo. Laughing and awe-ing cuz they can't tell,
if I'm wierd or cute.
This is what its come to if you're not like them you don't exist.
You're mearly something they can tell to their friends.
They don't care if you cut your wrist
or are soon to meet lifes end.
So hide beneath your blankets and sheet, and if knocked down get on your feet. Learn that the world, you have to forgive, and no one can tell you how to live.
Thinking of how we went from cavemen life being what's normal (surviving) and now how it's become material things.