The Wretched

I look through myself Deep within Trying to find the answer Why I pity them These mindless souls A path clearly layed out for them They are brainwashed zombies Unknowing Unwilling Unable to witness the truth But we the few remain Us, the ones with our own brain We stand We fight We resist the death grip We are the ones in the crowd The ones with our head up proud As people walk by They wonder why We are like this We are like that They call us outcasts But in my mind I think of us all as something truly divine Because I escaped I know what it feels like not to hide Yet to this day I don’t know why People chose to hide and lie I’ll never know how they do it Is it because of the firm grip? The one that won’t let you slip? Is it really that hard to escape the horrible grip This grip, the death grip The one of the wretched...