I lie in bed.
The pressure of slow realization
Let’s loose its heavy burden,
And I cannot breath

I inhale and choke.
The stench of a dying mother
Clogs my airway.
Children by her side,
And guilt in her mind
That they have no one else.

I lie in bed.
The pressure of slow realization
Let’s loose its heavy burden,
And I cannot see.

I close my eyes and watch
Orphans on the street.
Tortured by their knowledge
Of the cruelties of man.
Their innocence and joy
Burned in the fires of hell,
Leaving them defend less
To empty dreams and hopes.

I lie in bed.
The pressure of slow realization
Let’s loose its heavy burden,
I cannot hear.

I plug my ears and I listen
To the blessed loudly proclaiming
Their selfish problems and desires.
Their status overpowering
The whisper of the nations
Whom lost hope so long ago.


I lie in bed.
The pressure of slow realization
Let’s loose its heavy burden,
And I cannot feel

I grip my hands and I touch
The orphans of injustice.
Their skin rough and bleeding
From their battle with life.
Leaving their souls as dry as sand
Longing for the refreshing rain of love.
And the world stares at them in disgust.

I lie in bed.
The pressure of slow realization
Let’s loose its heavy burden,
And I cannot taste.

My body contorts to the taste of death.
I want it out of
My body my life my memory.
And so it leaves me,
To sulk over the bodies of the innocent
Smothering their lives in the black charcoal of The Beast.

We stand together.
The pressure of slow realization
Let’s loose its heavy burden,
And we can not go on.
So we live for
The dying mothers
The empty
The nations with no hope
The lonely
And the living dead



Our hearts will bend
Our lives will end
And the world will turn, again