Listen now, nothing agrees unless it’s paid for.
What sort of mischief is this that the world turns on a dime?
No faith can abide as long as brother slays sister.
No honor among thieves and the elders cheer it on.
Ideals turn to fable and the kids stay home.
Virtue becomes a mere prospect.
Hope is reduced to whispers.
And there’s nothing left to protest.
Compassion dies on the floor surrounded by old men in suits.
The lost art of empathy is remembered only as a pretty little thing.
And the whole world’s been turned to money.
Even my eyes
Our very thoughts bought and used
Our lives a billboard
Our tongues a broadcast
How will we ever be born again from this?
Are there any hidden bastions to rise or call?
There are no sides of the aisle.
Only machines rolling over humanity.
And always for the people.