Poetry - Protest song: "Poor Hereditary Syndrome"
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I see dead people
Around me they sleepwalk
They all seem so lively
Inside a ticking clock
Waiting for tomorrow
The weekend to stock up
On some anxious laughter
The few moments they bought
Then return to the cycle
In which they got stuck
Money disciples
Souls turned off
Eyes crying for the shadow
Of dreams left to rot
As the light that they followed
Didn't find any luck
I don't mean to be callous
I just wish I could stop
Because I'm rapidly aging
Into something I'm not
And I pray for my mother
Who forgot how to love
Herself even others
As her faith got struck
Some may say why bother
Complaining when there is not
A cure to less suffer
I accept life is chaos
But I can't my pain color
I feel something is lost
That it could be so much better
If we adored less to drug
Our perceptions away
From our own selfish thoughts
If we became the order
We demand others to have
And saw life less a race
More a beautiful plot
To uncover with grace
Until our hearts do pause
I wish we knew better to care
For what makes us human
And didn't throw lives away
For a repackaged fraud
In fear we aimlessly sway
Clowns elect and applaud
Let them our future spend
To feed their bloodlust
Is not just that I dissent
Or I only see the flaws
There is too much restrain
In the plans we draw
Too many things that detain
Our minds from natural law
Told relatively all is the same
Yet the truth can't be stopped
It always finds a way
To break out of the box
In which the evil who reign
Hide it so they can rob
And keep us entertained
Overfed robots
Terrified of dying
Taking every shortcut
Broken but still buying
Things to paint and cover the cracks
Honesty mocking and denying
Claiming our honor intact
Yes I am identifying
With all of this selfish talk
But I am also the false kings notifying
I am no longer their mascot
I am not afraid of their spying
Won't subscribe to idealistic smut
Myself I am edifying
Not putting up another act
In them not relying
Won't let them my morals distract
Their poison well it is drying
Like every one before that
The many hands unifying
Against all the blind odds
We see
We are purifying
Reclaiming our hope back
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