Mud
Crashland twenty one nine on the darkest timeline trying to change course
With my waistband hid by my waistline, this is where I place my blame on the source
This is where I place my blame on an unfair plain, or a sloping playing field
Where faults of our own get lost and disowned by a smug self certified shield
Destruction’s been done, the villain’s have won, the gavel’s gone down in assurance
Yet boredom has caused apathetic yawns, blurring the chords of importance
Trivia brings in tears to the eye while genocide tries to tease out a sigh
Warmth is saccharine, kindness is crass while vanity reigns and rakes in the cash
Human contact, eyes or skin, defeated by machines of sin
And those who pray, the prey of hate, at least found ways to meditate
At least take time away from days to close them from this world insane
And we place blame no self-restraint, no virtue, will nor love
Deny once more we were not shoved in this dystopian mud
We crafted, tinkered, framed and shelved
We welcomed it upon ourselves
We screamed our insincerest yells
Whilst dancing in the flood
