You look around one day and you notice the world,
it cries and withers, you see the pain and you ignore it,
After all it’s not your pain.
Death is but a pastime for bored housewives,
the good things in life too unexciting for the monotone crowd.
People drift apart, divided by common problems and personal differences.
One by one we fall into a self-righteous abyss if indifference,
you follow, after all if others do it why shouldn’t you.
We are a herd of selfish animals looking for survival,
stepping on the ones around us as we reach for the top.
Yet once there you’re still not content, you want more,
We always do.
You fight for what you think wrong,
ignore your conscience in order to achieve grandness,
and when you have finally reached the goal you killed for,
the one you trust the most pushes you off into the shards of the lives you shattered.
Your own broken dreams become knives that cut deep into your ego,
and bleed you dry of public acceptance,
and yet my friend you still can’t find a way to love,
you’re trapped inside a vicious cycle of your own creation.
You find reasons to hate and avoid any situation that might threaten you nature.
Void of emotion you prey on the gentle souls the try to help you.
You hunt in darkness and avoid looking at the faces of your unwilling victims,
it doesn’t mean you care, you simply fear the look of pity on their lifeless eyes.
Tragic, even comical, that when you look in the mirror,
you see me face.

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