Hours pulse into days, confined to empty frames of mind,
We watch the poisoned world tick by,
We watch the statues start to cry.
Bland gardens of silver and stone, minds so barren and
Twisted with boredom.
The rain is healing and soft, diamonds from heaven on the
Dried out remains of society; we are the throwaways,
The ones who escaped from a life of sheep-mentality just
By burning in our own rebellious ugliness.
We watch them live and die, never fully alive,
Eyes always closed to, minds always locked.