I wish my point of view didn’t exist. Don’t want to be human, don’t want to sweat the small stuff, but when I do, I know an inner-explosion is about to occur

That being fed up thing. I used to point fingers forward, I trace all fingers back to me

I listened to the heartbeat of a dead body who watched as justice was never served. The passivity, the man who wouldn’t speak up

He wouldn’t raise his voice for what was right. That would mean he would have to define what was right

Man, the brave, the strong, he averted his eyes instead

Look into the smiles of the children

How they scream

Lord of the flies, a world depicted for kids with no parents. Now, the parents are the kids

Welcome them to the lands

Generations lost to the selfish binge

My point of view

Just exactly what I see

I witness the dying children

Plastered smiles on their faces