Sometimes I think I ain't angry enough
To write voraciously and devour fears like heroes from before
I think I lack anger to strike those fits of thunder
With words, like my heroes from before
Where have all causes gone? Where are they now ?
Have all ghosts, enemies and opinions did die out?
'Tis a world of bland confusion, no guidance on what to be
We know there's no illusion, but that's not as bad as lack of reality
Cries, mourns, vacancy signs, rummaging stores, to men that won't die, for medicine abhors to let down the good statistical numbers of society.
My heroes they hang from a crux with their name
We all know who they are, they died out of fame, but are they to blame, as being different gets quickly sold out
For we will never be them, although we'll look the same.
'Tis the nature of what this is, basking in the sun, all is given, none to miss
As we waste ourselves and our good looks out.