Is someone out there listening
to what I have to say?
Can you feel what I'm saying?
Help me find a lighter day.
Stressed out, and simmering,
I can't erase all that I lay on myself.
I feel like a disgrace.
But, now, can't you see
This isn't how it's supposed to be.
Cynicism is a rampant eulogy
Imposed upon our socity.
And though we can't be free,
This is our reality.
Is this what I'm meant to be?
Callous in my unity?
