Oh I think there's something wrong here-- Your money is making you think you're free. But I can see right through it, And I think you're just as scared as me Blood is all over the streets, And Lining pockets of the powerful men And we think That we are safe 'cause The sun keeps coming back up again. I'm not ok with this life that we made, But I'm afraid that it might be too late. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. There's a reason for the lying, There's a reason that it's soothing to our ears. It's the bottle we were nursed on, It tastes just like the truth after all these years. I'm not ok with this life that we made, But I'm afraid that it might be too late. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end. This is not the end.