Killing the Beautiful

Grotesque, wrapped in cellophane

Try to hide the wretched stench

But it permeates

Like a piece of meat

Way past the sell by date

And I can't seem to find my way out of this place.

We are the sick

Intoxicated by our own indifference

We are the sick

And we are drowning in a sea of silence.

I am the clouds that block the sun

I am the bullet in the gun.

So Sick of trying to fit this broken mold

Choking on what is left of this parable

So sick of hiding what lives inside of me

as we are killing, we are killing the beautiful

We are the sick

In isolation we have found our purpose

We are the sick

Were breaking down and breaking through the ignorance

So Sick of trying to fit

this broken mold.

Choking on what is left of

this parable

So sick of hiding what lives inside of me

as we are killing, we are killing the beautiful

Scrape skin from the lovely surface

I never felt like it had a purpose

True beauty lies below

in its simplistic imperfections

I am the clouds that block the sun

I am the bullet in the gun

So Sick of trying to fit

this broken mold.

Choking on what is left of

this parable

So sick of hiding what lives inside of me

as we are killing, we are killing the beautiful