Dead

There is no point to this, I write and write to get no play

I put my heart in situations, that’s why I wrote Astray

I’m living in a life full of misery and pain

I never sound nice nor do I even count the strain

The strain of vigilance among the two who have restraints and hits

The love of colorless will paint pictures on black and white canvas

The tyranny that’s caused all of this war, shall pour upon its people

Drown them in the sore, deep in pores where death dwells in kilos

The superstition of regulars on the dark path

Individuals divided by numbers but have no hint of math

Take a glance, portray them as your evil leader

If I had a chance, I’d die cus rolling dice is just a feature

Will we prevail if god shows us more suns and earths?

Will we all die if we prove we we’re made of dirt?

With such mystery we wonder why we’re still living

Too bad we all die tomorrow and nothing is forgiven.