Things that no one seems to hear
Whisper softly to my ear
Finding me in the dawn-lit hour
While someone else would contemplate a shower
The thoughts of all the outcasts here
Around the world and many like deer
That sing the same old quiet tune
That probably was once written in rune
The quiet ones, the warrior warners
The silent could-be mourners
Somehow they’ve been silenced
Forced to bear witness to our violence
Have you counted up their tears?
There’s just as many as their fears
For every fear you hide at heart
You can be sure one of them shares it in part
The power the human being craves
Has forced so many to turn to wraiths
But these are the few, the pure
Perhaps they hold our forgotten cure?
Not many see something quite like this
No, their too busy pondering a kiss
But when you see through open eyes
The guardian angel beside you flies
But by seeing in this new perspective
You risk become quite the skeptic
Can the human race be good?
Well, they all know that they should
So now we come to a large conclusion
That you can see truth or illusion
But either way, the outcome’s grim
Because we all stand on this same rim
The world changes as we speak
Perhaps there will be a good change this week
But now look at all the sad
The miserable, the musty, and the bad
Are these people that we think of?
Because we see to be thinking of the rough
Gritty, gross, grotesque and grimy
Smelly, sulfurous, and slimy
These words more accurately describe
Something that we refuse to inscribe
The human soul, that mythical thing
The one people forget to bring
Can this world continue on?
When all we care for is tonight’s filet mignon
Save us! Save us! Someone please!
That’s what we cry, we might as well be fleas
Annoying, selfish, leaching slugs
That’s what we’ve become, simple rugs
And yet there were those silent few
Who watched the morning collect its dew
Whisper softly to my ear
Finding me in the dawn-lit hour
While someone else would contemplate a shower
The thoughts of all the outcasts here
Around the world and many like deer
That sing the same old quiet tune
That probably was once written in rune
The quiet ones, the warrior warners
The silent could-be mourners
Somehow they’ve been silenced
Forced to bear witness to our violence
Have you counted up their tears?
There’s just as many as their fears
For every fear you hide at heart
You can be sure one of them shares it in part
The power the human being craves
Has forced so many to turn to wraiths
But these are the few, the pure
Perhaps they hold our forgotten cure?
Not many see something quite like this
No, their too busy pondering a kiss
But when you see through open eyes
The guardian angel beside you flies
But by seeing in this new perspective
You risk become quite the skeptic
Can the human race be good?
Well, they all know that they should
So now we come to a large conclusion
That you can see truth or illusion
But either way, the outcome’s grim
Because we all stand on this same rim
The world changes as we speak
Perhaps there will be a good change this week
But now look at all the sad
The miserable, the musty, and the bad
Are these people that we think of?
Because we see to be thinking of the rough
Gritty, gross, grotesque and grimy
Smelly, sulfurous, and slimy
These words more accurately describe
Something that we refuse to inscribe
The human soul, that mythical thing
The one people forget to bring
Can this world continue on?
When all we care for is tonight’s filet mignon
Save us! Save us! Someone please!
That’s what we cry, we might as well be fleas
Annoying, selfish, leaching slugs
That’s what we’ve become, simple rugs
And yet there were those silent few
Who watched the morning collect its dew
