When There's So Much Light, Why Do I Feel So Dark?

This is a prophesy a soliloquy of the memory of children three so small and frightened lost and heightened senses tighten muscle spasms so sad the alley ways filled with phantoms and little eyes they cry so brown like the shit of the earth they were told they were fighting for nothing fighting for something to give to the little brother hiding trying so hard to keep him from crying can't let your father prying hunting for the alcohol that fuels him and cools him and eats him then beats him till he's bleeding and he's guilty for the masochism we believe in so try the schism it's delicious.

Hero worship gets you no where and I'm here to tear the facades amongst the applause and fuck your religion the reason given for so much livin' with no accountability as you push us back down into the dirt where it hurts wrong side of the tracks and we're back and we have guns so many fucking guns to shun your way of life the strife you caused we're lost in a sea of anger and twisting the fists you threw in our faces when we asked you for help you called us whelps we're your fucking children why do you ignore us why do you throw us to the floor and ask for more than what we can give?

History and mystery and Listerine drowning the promises you never meant to keep you're cheap you used me used us to thrust you into success on our backs but we were the shadows we were the hallows the gallows the city swung by and darkening your doorstep with the anarchy you knew was coming the king of the next Roman Empire filled to the brim with broken homes.

I see it now reaching down to cup the wide-eyed future generation so innocent never meant to feel the flint nor the steel sparking the downfall of integrity and we are the degradation of society the slow unraveling of propriety and these kids so beautiful the minority of English speakers and broken homes and class distinction and absolution is never coming because the anti Christ is alive in every single middle class crass mouthed brass housed brat never had to work for nothing never had to work for the love of a mother that was never home and a father that never existed never twisted the cap onto the bottle always off always frothed always bleeding the poison he never would admit was killing our visions of God.

This is the message
The only hope that the next generation has
This is the people
Of the past telling you to learn from our mistakes
It's a vicious theory
Circling back to eat ourselves alive
History repeats itself but we don't have to...