I came to express myself in this congested mess, but self
As world member suggesting self-help as health
As my principle endeavor in anecdotes I wrote
To engage the audience and then verbally slaughter it
Addressing the crowd out loud and outraged
Turn to burn a page, stirred and shook my rage
The pudding is spoiled where the proof is
Movie star cowboys take CNN exclusives
To prove the unproven, moving the target
From bin Laden to Saddam while Gammora stays marketed
The darkness casts its shadow inward: a black hole
Of souls that chose to expose themselves whole
And laugh in the face of enlightenment "Why fight it?"
They scream on tv screens in the thin-veiled obscene
As the third rail goes dead and thick blood is shed
For the thicker, much slicker that kept SUV's fed
Measured for a generation that has lost its mind
Forgetting times when poets spoke the sublime
I have seen the greatest minds of my generation
Raddled by coke abuse, shackled in basements
The great writers, philosophers stuck on clever word play
That I can rewind ten times and still not hear a nerve displayed
While the Grammies are graced by gollums with bad grammar
And Oscars ostracized the best of all actors
The people's choice awards are voted by hordes
Of voyeuristic whores who want more than hardcore

These are the days we thought we'd never see
By steadily pushing back responsibility
These are the days when no one is free
Lost freedom for protection, now who's protecting me?
These are the days that choices are hard
Comfort for now and tomorrow you catch scars
These are the days, the last days
Before no turning back, no correction of ways

The white coals that burn through eyelids of sinners
Reveal the soul brighter than Madison Ave windows
Lit up by the fluorescent truth that kills egos
The confessions we scream, but the guilt we all see through
The evil that lives in us, the ecstasy it gives to us
The lust we must fulfill is still too real to us
The power, hold it over, build it a monument
Devour the weak to ensure your own dominance
Each lesson in life is a turn of the knife
Embedded in the chests of those who live trife
The meek that won't fight, raise fists for old glory
Sprite canned the flag and changed the whole story
Of the woman with mixed blood, fixed on the ideal
Of love and a fist raised to make it all equal
But the only thing equal is fake sugar they use
To make a bit sweeter the taste of abuse
Who's here to rebel and whom does the bell toll for?
I've looked into the well of my own and saw yours
We're in this together, like or not
Accept it or plot for that which you'll drop
It's like we're tended by madmen and locked our own cells
Like we mend our own fences to lock in ourselves
Like the noise is so deafening we can't hear ourselves
So we hum a bad pop song as the prophets will yell

These are the days