***

We stand up every morning
We hear the same old blues
This world has a lot to offer
But not the right to choose
 
We speak within the silence
The last one of our chords
This is no place for talking
This is no place for words
 
There is no true remaining
Is fake even our belief
Hell, what are we betraying
Under the cloak of grief?
 
Our heart lies in the south
Our soul lies in the north
Our ego is unbowed
But that's not even worth...
 
God spoke us from the east
God spoke us from the west
We were deaf to hear and blind
So we couldn't see the rest...
 
There is again blood on the street
We hear the same old blues
We live the life for us chosen
And not the one we choose.

ⒸLeonard Seiti Wednesday Morning 3Am