Isn’t it funny, the things we think we are?
We can win a Nobel Peace Prize, yet murder a loved one’s heart.
Isn’t it scary, the people we presume to be?
We can feed an orphan, yet starve humility.
Fools and champions of idolatry has this world become,
satisfying it’s own flesh and replacing the One
with temporary adjustments to a crooked spine,
celebrating life with indulgence so blind.
It’s ugly, the things we have become.
If we could only see all we were meant to be,
we would make time for less idiocy.
There would be no gossip, for we would know it bites us.
There would be no murder, for we would know it murders us.
There would be no lies, for we would see they only trap us.
There would be no hate, for we would see it hinders us.
Isn’t it sad, the things we hate we are?
We could run free on Earth, yet are slaves to the drug.
Isn’t it depressing, the people we despise we are?
We could give hope new birth, yet commit suicide in low self-worth.
It’s important, the things we think we are.
Our actions are chosen by the mind to the body.
It’s necessary, the people we presume to be.
Every decision creates a path for our destinies.