Future

What will become of this heart of mine?
Delicate and damaged things intertwined
And in turn can only affect my mind
To drive me crazy with the truths I find

To each their own, we're often taught
But it's just this right, we've all been bought
Left alone, left to rot
And junk piled on like an empty lot

What will become of the days to come?
Coming in like the workman's son
Tired, haggard, in need of fun
Honest, disciplined, the work all done

For now, our skies are filled with poison
Not to mention contaminated oceans
And, of course, we're left with the notion
To live a lie, just drink this magic potion

So much commotion, and in the midst
A fragile, humble, meek little hiss
'Maybe its the love we all miss?
The hate lingers on, a terrible cyst
If we can remember the good, and forget the rest
Wouldn't it really be for the best?'

Few try to hold on to this little voice
And it's this thought that does persist
So maybe if we make enough noise
This future could really exist