How is what we are different from what we pretend to be?
There are animals loose in the streets
Where two important crossings meet
They flee from things that never come
Inside themselves, these things are from.
Guided malice, we only observe
Is erratic when paired with one bad nerve.
So the panic spreads a dark disease
That encircles our hearts and rides on the breeze.
We watch familiar monsters as they try to take our dreams
To smother them in their shadow, their land of death and screams.
Not with hoof or fang but on a thunderous stampede.
The fire of mad nations, rage and war and greed.
Poising on pedestals of self-defined superiority
We say we are the best, more than the rest, not animals, we're free!
But which are we? Man or beast?
Its now very hard to tell.
If we rise from selfish need, this world will have no kinds of hell.
We can be beasts of peace, or we'll bid our wild farewell.