Your Little Suburbia Is in Ruins

Open those eyes

Wake from peace

Orders are some favorite color

Same old same old is their battle cry

Why don't we keep searching for a new flavor

Our hearts have become a routine

Worthy kings have broken backs for nothing

Unless we cherish all with pride

the lines on our face will turn into canyons of sorrow instead of hope

They didn't die from the cold without but they died from the cold within

And I just can't stop denying that our brothers are in miserable pain

Stop short

Lend a hand and break the chains of regularity that you lean so closely upon

Your little Suburbia is in ruins

Tear down all the assumptions you hold for I guarantee they are false

Sometimes the best feeling may be the one that kills