What kind of culture are we
When it's the hungry feeding the starving
The dying helping the dead
The upset counseling the depressed?
This world is coming to an end, I guess
I can lend a helping hand even if I'm missing fingers
But I've witnessed people bear arms before they reach out, figures
Humankind usually isn't
We learn to survive with the life that we're given
And we usually give up before we give back
It's the ethics that we lack
And the fact that we never listen
Even if we're
Talking our own conscience up on top of a steep building
We don't know what to tell our self esteem
So he leaps and it kills him, but
He can't die on impact if he never made one
Or of a heart attack if he never showed love

And hopefully you have once because I know I have twice
Used to fall on my own knife to fight the fear of blood
And twist it clockwise 'cause hard times are realistic
And still no one listens, I'm asking why
But to me, nobody is telling
Why would this backwards both in logic and spelling
It's like casting spells and praying within the same sentence
I'm life-sentencing myself away from the senseless
The way I grab a tape for the compelling
So I push myself to be alone
As the hope come and goes like the even blow of the ghost of acceptance
The wealthy hung by a fucking rope
I'm hanging by a thread
Go ahead and pull it
See what unravels me next
My ride will survive when I'm trying to keep my breath
Because I already lost my faith
I'm ready to chase the red-faced demon, they say
What if God was one of us?
But what if the Devil was in the same body?
What if I told you that body was yours?
Would you embody the fact that your reliable source is unknown and that every scriptures have been whispered and misheard like a bad game of telephone?
'Cause everybody likes to talk, but not everyone wants to listen
Turns the bible into a fire starter
And a work of fiction turns the world into a place of fear and conviction
Where everyone's a convict that sticks to their strict version of jurisdiction
And I can see the gavel slam in the way that you look at me
As you dissect and decide if I'm street smart or just street
Got me feeling like a bum and I'm bummed out, certainly
Certain things are best left unsaid
Certain things are best left dying
Dying is the only thing certain as a whole
When [?] brain grow nothing but mold
And nothing but gray matter
And nothing matters but nothing is cold
In the dead culture of us
Death
And cold