When will we stop tearing our eyes away
From all the ugly things in this world?
When we have the power - the calling to make them beautiful
We're so worried about our image
That we can't even look a hurting person in the eyes

That girl wearing the long sleeves
Watches her father pummle her mother
Instead of watching TV
All she knows is hurting people
But the only one to hurt is herself
She welcomes the blade
And we just walk away
Instead of wrapping her in the love
She's searched endlessly for

The man that sleeps in the garbage
Watched his house and family burn up in flames
And blames himself as he starves unwillingly
No one spares him a glance
Let alone some change

Its time we make ourselves known
Instead of just existing

Fire moves your feet
water soothes your face,
the Earth rocks your body
and the wind gives you chase.

Our words weighing heavy
their sentiments resting soft,
they can pummle your little heart
or brush against it, like cloth.