Are we holy works of art ?
Or the kings of pretension ?
Why the hell should we decide
Who will get to live or die ?
Are we holy works of art ?
Or is that our own invention ?
To justify that we’d be meant
To decide which being should die ?
We got the world in our hands
We use that power to whelm
The tombs we have at our feet...
Are we THE thinking animals
In this decline with many declensions ?
It could all be rectified
To be the change. Let’s realize
we are slaughtering our emotions !
Our bodies and the earth(’s) alike,
Share the same appetite !