The verses slip through your head
like dreams you had as a child
in scary machines, our art was shred
in manila folders, our mistakes were filed.

As artists, we don’t succeed
yet follow your dreams, they say
we’ve always believed that we have a need
to see the crimson skies of a dying day.

Salary and prominence
can determine your life
society, money is our dominance
the glint of a bloodstained knife.

This nation considers itself to be enlightened and progressive
but its history shows that we are recessive
in shadows of shallow, fickle lives
morals and ethic, abandoned for sex drives.

Why do we coddle ourselves to believe that all is well
when we are living in this fiery hell?
“Hush hush”, we say to the ones we need to protect
and shield them from all things desperately wrecked.