I kissed a girl with a broken smile; nothing could come near. She carved it with a pocket knife; slit from ear to ear. And she wears it like her favourite scarf; it keeps her from the cold. So I told her its only woven by her enemies of old.
We often think strangers have, The upper hand in crafting our pain, We believe they feel no remorse, For their cruel deeds. But most times, It’s the ones closest to us, Who recklessly hurt us, Without feeling any guilt.
We squander our health in our pursuit of wealth, We starve and overwork ourselves, In hopes, it all leads to a better life, Only for us to splurge our newfound wealth, To seek the health we once had.