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Streets Governed Criminal
Can you grasp something that's invisible
In the streets governed by the streets driven criminal
In the sheets, painted up with a face that isn't yours
and your hands tainted with the blood of others, and unopened doors
The sun has gone down, and the homeless are freezing
Some dancing around, and with food appeasing
While you and some others are in the room all alone..
and the air smothers you, and anxiety brings life out of the zone
A hand comes out of your thumping heart, and suffocates you silly
It comes out screaming, and dumping the pain of the world, and you get chilly
You wish you could save the world, and cradle the ill in your hands
Bring, pave and stretch out the curled, lost, to comfort the bullied trans
What is the world, when you walk around to live with someone else's blood on your hands
To live when you ignore and talk happiness but can't give and end the flood to the disappearing lands?
Don't you ever wonder what the world means when there's a bunch of so called nobodies?
Acting like a blunder is a murder and people just have a hunch who you are, and lay on our tragedies?
What is morality?
When we are bathed in brutality?
Laugh it off like we don't know,
While people are screaming below
and someone has to pay and die
and all people say is "I'm sorry, I can't, goodbye."
This is humanity.
We all try to ignore the insanity.
and someone's on the floor crying for someone to be there
and others just seem to kick, scream and glare
but for their sisters and brothers they'd probably shed a tear
But for anyone else they say they can't be here
It's truly disgusting
Respect is forever rusting
Screaming "Equality!" yet fighting and burning homes in it's name, adding blood to the unnecessary sea of issues of gender and "race" and the others trivial differences we try to hold
Through actual frivolity of rewriting and turning around simple non-offensive words like its a game, yet somehow determining what you are by shape of your face, through privileged or how old
When we both share the same organs, the emotions, and planet
breathing the same air, through the grass and granite
and still we fight which status, and hands matter the most
Competing with our apparatus and plans, that catch the eye to bleed one of our fellow brothers as a host
What's the point if we stand on dead bodies to live?
To disjoint lives that are so much more meaningful and bite the hand that gives?
This must be the meaning of our lives
To bleed a poor soul and find the next one that arrives.
