Just a first verse+... haven't written anything in awhile. Writhing from darkness we spark less fire than miring ourselves in this stark mess, why're we basting our woes with the faces of foes abraded, berated by those also abated by fate's throes? We worry and whine, journey through time after thoughts spurned from my mind's tall speech by the grime guttering the suits of wall street. Coin of the land: imaginary. The system's unsanitary and it's damaging our humanity. Capitalist and Christian, Jefferson, Jesus, we didn't listen. Our guns glisten at the children in prison and brother is blood solely, no longer one another. When pockets have space for change we've hoarded. When stomachs have prayed for grace, we've hoarded. And, though it's safe to say we've hoarded without fear of being deported, jailed or slain, I have to say: we've hoarded.