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The damage is done,
The eyes has lost its sight and
The visions, all withered and wasted
Like an untended flower left to rot.
The world had become a footstool;
Its citizens are viewed with myopic eyes
That claimed to see everything
Albeit, it saw no more than greed.
Time is warped,
With its tendrils stroking old memories
And Its cycle, repeated in the circle
That tends to know no end.
The foresight of the future is impaired as
Wealth changed hands, but not that of a beggar’s,
And the helpless grasses
Became the foundation for giant footprints.
When will the Carnage stop;
The immoral derailment of ailing dreams,
And the forgotten lore of our sires be redeemed?
When will the eyes be cleansed of dust
And visions seen in three dimensions?
