| In the city the commute is a silent train
|
| full of tired workers. |
| Blank stares,
|
| discomfort, and caffeine keep them
|
| awake. |
| And it seems so sad to me.
|
| But it’s honorable still. |
| And I wish
|
| them peace at this pace. |
| It will never
|
| change. |
| And I think I’m finally over it.
|
| These words fall on deaf ears.
|
| Everybody’s hell looks different.
|
| It changes shape but it never goes away.
|
| In the suburbs kids are getting high today,
|
| out of boredom. |
| Their parents moved here
|
| to feel safe, but they don’t match the scenery.
|
| Fences work both ways. |
| They keep some out,
|
| and they keep some in. It’s another day
|
| at this pace. |
| It will never change.
|
| And I think I’m finally over it.
|
| These words fall on deaf ears.
|
| Everybody’s hell looks different.
|
| It changes shape, but it never goes away.
|
| In a classroom there’s a child with thoughts
|
| of death on his mind.
|
| In a hospital there’s an old man looking
|
| back on his life. |
| And I wonder why some
|
| people see the beauty, while others see
|
| the pain. |
| Entertainment, politics, consumers,
|
| cops, religious tricks…
|
| Ugly, sad, or beautiful. |
| Sometimes
|
| it feels so trivial.
|
| We need some time. |
| We need some space.
|
| We need some help for us to understand. |