Atrophy

Children cry for their mothers,
the lost walk home,
the world sells to the hustlers,
like some kind of syndrome.

We walk to all four corners,
of the blue globe,
we pray to the scorners,
for some kind of hope.

I've sat too long,
my muscles are so sore.
I can't get up now,
I'm never going to be free,
from this damned atrophy.

We make war,
all around us,
We eat the poor,
and we make the rust.

We hammered our plowshares,
into swords that cut the soul,
the head falls down the stairs,
and out into the fall cold.

Our end is our beginning,
our misery is our might,
the moment we think we're winning,
we lose our only light.

I've gone on,
for such a long time,
I just want to sleep now baby,
I'm just so damned tired...

I've fought the hard fight,
I've broke the sword with pen
We've got all that stuff,
we've got all the freedom!

But we'll never be free,
from this horror atrophy.