Oh look at the struggling masses.
With their infatuation in a fur coat.
The inward chaos so festering, yet refined.
The outstretched hand displaying the boat.
The distraught emotions escalading, yet confined.
The monotomous colors form repeated patterns.
Just go away, let the disatisfaction fade.
The ignorance of a hummer, drinks at a tavern.
How far in life can we simply not swim, but wade?
Oh, open your eyes to the struggling masses.
The predetermined requirements, no social classes.
But, yet those damned fools walk on by.
Blindly past the calm, cool homeless man.
Oh, why don't they relate the misery and cry?
Instead, they conceal the similar and reject his clan.
Warm, inside the the dead animal not their soul.
Using their self-built ignorance to create a moat.
False, fake, fleeting satisfaction with their ignorance.
Treat feelings of separation and pain with indulgence.
No place in the world, but among struggling masses.
They are blind like bats to their standing.
Repeatedly like a mat filling what society's commanding.
They lack the knowledge to their true place.
That place continuously staring them bluntly in the face.
Oh, what stupidity in their conformity.
But, they're among the struggling masses.
Without peace of mind nor serenity.
Within their blind, black hole.
Have a soul.