I sit alone in the cold.
It's hard to be bold in a passionless world
Lacking desire, drive, fire.
There's no point in going forth
When the Earth is a waste,
Barren of creativity, void of idea.
Everything is robotic including my tears
Because this game was designed for the mass to fail.
We go through life in search of meaning and truth
But even the greatest sleuth has trouble finding it.
Despite the good deeds you did or demons you rid,
How can you be fulfilled when nothing seems real?
The culture marches on, leaving sanity and morality to the birds.
And those still willing to use their words are outnumbered
By the pawns of the modern regime.
We try not to get lost in the fog by keeping our individuality,
But one vlog, one poem, one movement for freedom
Will never be satisfactory
Or ease the pain we long to eradicate.
We abdicate for justice for all when none of us have a say
In the way we're being played.
It's so easy to be passive and undecided.
So when we try to start a fire 
And escape into a colorful world of good and ultimate happiness,
A great wave of hatred snuffs out our effort
And the cycle begins again.


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