At first I see an open wound
Infected and disastrous.
It breaths chaotic catastrophe,
It cries to be renewed.
Its tears are the color of anger,
They dry to form a scab.
To the touch, it´s stiff and resilient,
Underneath, the new skin breaths.
As outwardly cliché as it may seem,
Yes, something under thesurface says, "C´est la vie."
It is a circle, there is a plan,
Dead skin will atrophy itself to start again.
Look past that open wound,
See past what covers the surface.
Underneath chaotic catastrophe,
Creation takes the stage.
It´s all been saved,
With the exception for the right parts.
When will we be new skin?
It´s all been seen,
With the exception for what could be.
When will we be new skin?
Fallacious cognitious
spewed from televisions
Do Mold our decisions.
So stop and take a look
And you´ll see what I see now.