What a world we live in
Where things we do, everything
Is questionable by a being
Not supreme, but a mere living.
Leads me to think of ideas, things
That are so slim, lines so thin
To survive this era of hurt and stings
Possibly the fantasy of angel's wings.
This generation of vipers and scorpions
All in the admirable disguise of fashion
Making you lay on poisonous cushions,
They devour thee ferociously as hungry lions.
Pity, O ye faithless generation,
All you think of is fame and admiration,
All those hurt because of your infatuation,
Is but a vague memory, a past reflection.
The actions done within a single blink,
The sins committed with a simple wink,
As time continues, away to blink,
The rhythm of choices begin to sync.
When all these begin, in, to sink,
The pattern of actions, you begin to link,
Some are pinned as golden, silver or zinc,
Some can't even be pinned as ordinary ink.
Who am I to judge thee, for am among,
Just not all of us follow the crowd along,
Thought many know their right and wrong,
So few are those that do not, in sin, throng.
For after this era is gone, though tis long,
We few hope to sing a brand new song,
Of how, ‘after this life has, we all, stung,
The bell of freedom now rings, ding dong'.