Way I see it..

The world is a symphony,

It sings the tragedy,

That is dying each moment,

with each sounding key.

No conductor can simply

Instruct this discord

this Cacophony of falsity

the hum of the bored

(our disheartened).

Chaotic is the tune we hear playing out,

muffled screaming in an ambient cloud of electronics buzzing

and the splash of the loud

radioactive waste in staccato,

decrescendoing while it is found

drip-drop dripping away at our collective tomorrows.

This unmistakable sound,

gets Lost in the bellows

of the masses .

sorrows

screamed in the crowds

who are marching to the beat

of their own unique drummers

whilst they play it

all out on the doldrums.

It thunders,

from these percussive instruments,

A loud clattering blunder. composed of a fodder, made up from the utter mundane.

monotony, formed fully

from the struggle day to day.

But The chorus refrains from any rebuttal.

uttered cries will get muted, ceased, and are muffled, then they're replaced with an echoed rest and then they’re stifled.

The duration of this attenuation maintains

till all who took note of the alarm get beguilled,

And the mind change

Sustained

is as a fall of a mild silence denoting a farce of "okay".

All the while

this poisonous jingle though muted still plays.

Longevity to be the casualty of this Harmonized haze.

Fumes of all that's amiss, that’s destroyed, or in phase to collapse Toppled from all this folly.

I speak of the things we cannot take back.

We the producers who've mastered this track.

So sing your songs low

of indignant resendence.

We will squander real life

with the things that our well-meaning advancements have lended.

So note this deception and respect what we've hindered

for it is granted no more.

If this Life is a battle,

we have lost the war.

Then hear it,

in our final moments

turmoils score.

resounding with

a profound sense of cost

And before

the last smoke clears and

the real toll is told

the weeping tunes of regret

will be sang as a whole

from the bottom of each and every poor soul,

who now knows the hard way their errors.

I pray they won't ever again place

the value of Life below gold.

but its too late now,

its getting old

and so are we.

Grow the fuck up,

I accept my responsibility.

cest’la’vie.