“Today in my heart a vague trembling of stars and all roses are as white as my pain.”— Frederico García Lorca

Your hypnotized by social stats See the ripples on your wall They're shallow castes Of a life not lived at all Wasted days you've come to hate

We'll let them know You could not wait You're rushing through But there's no gate Looping weeks where no bell tolls

No excuse to be so hardened Pacing 8's in Camus's garden Map your way in verbal crumbs of beige

Hold your head up high with gusto Leaving all your hallmark's hollow Traffic-jam your heart from skeptic's gaze