Will the world not hear the naked cries from the wicket lies to preserve our gains.
These weary stains cast upon the winds of change, the battle remains the same but who’s to blame.
Deny the fruitless hearts testing the mettle of mortal men the bitter grind before the folk lord chimes, reason no longer rhymes in these difficult times.
Unwilling to concede the collective will no longer believes still we are waiting to be relieved from the inner thieves.
While the vile lust of greed takes hold, hungry children in the cold, this story has been told but it’s no match for the shine in gold.
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