For Ourselves

People, they sit and they watch.

Looking back, and towards the clocks.

Sitting, sleeping, not getting along.

In this world, this frail, frail place;

Masses, trying to keep the retched, insane pace.

And for what, gratification, social acceptance.

Abiding to rules set by our fake directors.

Thinking, thoughtlessely believing in what is said.

Characteristic of the utterly brain-dead.

But I do not blame, and I do not begrudge.

For it is all of humanity that swims in the sludge.

Oh, what can be done. And where is the light.

One that might shine on the unforgiving night.

 

Abide

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