The madness of this world

What madness We are killing the healers and paying their killers Bound to the pound and signed our own fate Consuming its rot confiding in demons looting the land and soiling the seas The mother is burning the father is frail Its shadow is creeping its whispers are vile The machine it runs rampant its controls are all broken Our storytellers are paid to swim with its tide Is this the best we have to offer? Slogans selling you tomorrow