Is this what you expected? Your culture's a lung and we're out of breath. Your sound's asleep in the sun. We're tasting your lies by kissing with tongues tied. You can't fill the shoes that walk with our stride.
These words are a war when this mind is on fire. Can you light me? Can you write me off for trying to cough when I'm choking on stages made for a soft-hearted slave in a paycheck's parade and I'm paid in pride for the price of my impatience.
I wish I could make sense of this relationship between the coward and the courageous liar but it doesn't make a difference. The indifference of my opinions are subject to change depending on whether or not you're listening.
Are you listening?
Are you listening to me?
Are you listening to me scream at you for selling your soul and saving your truths to be told? Then call it a means to end this foreboding. Everything your broken fingers touch turn into gold and I hold the hands that clap in a remorse code.