What kind of culture are we
When it's the hungry feeding the starving
The dying helping the dead
The upset counseling the depressed?
This is world is coming to an end, I guess
I can lend a helping hand even if I'm missing fingers
But I've witnessed people bear arms before they reach out, figures
Humankind usually isn't
We learn to survive with the life that we're given
And we usually give up before we give back
It's the ethics that we lack
And the fact that we never listen
Even if we're
Talking to our own conscience up a top of a steep building
We don't know what to tell our self-esteem
So he leaps and it kills him, but
He can't die on impact if he never made one
Or of a heart attack if he never showed love
And hopefully you have once because I know I have twice
Just to fall on my own knife to fight the fear of blood
And twist it clockwise because hard times are realistic
And still no one listens, I'm asking why
But to me, nobody's telling
Why would this backwards both logic and spelling
It's like casting spells and praying within the same sentence
I'm life-sentencing myself away from the senseless
The way I gravitate to the compelling
So I push myself to be alone
As the hope come and goes
Like the ebb and flow of the ghost of acceptance
The wealthy hung by a fucking rope
I'm hanging by a thread
Go ahead and pull it, see what unravels me next
My rivals survive while I'm trying to keep my breath
Because I already lost my faith
I'm ready to chase the red-faced demon, they say
What if God was one of us
But what if the Devil was in the same body?
What if I told you that body was yours?
Would you embody the fact that your reliable source is unknown
And that every scripture could've been whispered
Misheard like a bad game of telephone?
'Cause everybody likes to talk
But not everyone wants to listen
Turns the bible into a firestarter and a work of fiction
Turns the world into a place of fear and conviction
Where everyones a convict
That sticks to their strict version of jurisdiction
And I can see the gavel slam in the way that you look at me
As you dissect and decide if I'm street smart or just street
Got me feeling like a bum and I'm bummed out, certainly
Certain things are best left unsaid
Certain things are best left dying
Dying is the only thing binding us as a whole
When the chain of brains grow nothing but mold
And nothing but gray and matter
But nothing matters when nothing's bold
In the dead culture of a
Death cult