The end of our souls, our mercy, our righteousness;
With twelve hundred walkmans
With twelve hundred radios
With twelve hundred televisions
All going out at once- static – static
All being crushed by the hand of humanity,
All in tune to the same crashing station
Like they stated in scriptures, rushing in succession
Tearing down doors teaching a lesson.
Let’s recognize this mess were in,
Jesturing to let the demons in,
Run faster, shut the door before the evil comes in.
But that box has already been opened
With our ill hearts
And wrecked souls,
With our mercy for genocide,
And ‘equality polls.’
Static - Static
I can remember a Paris church on Palm Sunday
Entirely filled with lit candles
One for each prayer we brought
And I wonder why my prayers must be so long
Praying for all of the struggle to be gone
Praying to relieve the pain from our homes
Praying to ease the curse from our souls.
This is not the end of us,
No zombie apocalypse
No meteor swallowing us
Just our faded minds
Coming out to hide.
Tell me that a lesson isn’t a lesson until it is taught right.
Yes, these happenings are real even when they’re not in site.
Close your eyes.
Look out at your own life.
For each soul, we are drowning in ankle deep water,
Pretending this earth is perfect
Is just going to hold us under.
Don’t bother to try if you haven’t tried yet
Because there are those of us out here that just don’t forget-
The drinking and driving,
The death of Dak,
The shootings and short comings,
And the *****that we lack.
You see this world is cruel
But we can clean up this mess and make it beautiful
Just if we open our eyes
And see that this is
The end of the world.