So it seems like it’s just another story,
One that is nothing but an allegory
Filled with lies, deceit, failure
False alibis, false witnesses, nothing seems to be what it is
Homicide, suicide, the tales that are filled with carnage
All indeed coincide with the way we truly live our lives.
The bombs that explode and the minds that implode.
It’s the sickness within that makes it all an ongoing sin.
Daily defeats, sorry retreats, the world is vanishing as we speak.
The rat race we all belong to, to make an earnest buck
Soon to realize that no one gives a fuck.
There’s nothing else to live for, live for your self.
Whose turn is it? Let’s hurry it up.
There are millions of John Does, lying around the forest
They were all killed- their simple minds spilled.
The veins of their brains, seeping out into the ground
Some are unlucky never to be found.
No finger prints, no evidence around.
Professions of lawyers, doctors, and cops- they will diagnose this corpse.
It was an accident, it was murder, it was revenge, it was a game.
Doesn’t matter to the victim it’s all the same.
The ending of their life on this god forsaken world,
The dead is conscience of nothing, completely at peace.
They become souls of solitude, unaware of what has happened.
No memory of what was done to them, as gory and treacherous as it may be.
Lucky them, never have to live another day in misery.
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