Violence in America

Say something, but how?

Do you even know your own voice?
It's yours to make,

If you care about choice.

It's your body,

Your mind.

No!

It isn't even yours.

Get your hands where I can see them,

Off now from the fun of your gun.
You say you're for real,

You're going to do it.

Then you get shot.

Hanging on hooks.

Not reading books.

Caring about looks.

And if an angel was here,

You'd still call miracles a joke.

It's you that's for bloodshed,

You for unequal rights.

If more than,

Or less than.

No common sense.

Revise your thoughts.

Make new advancements.

Keep progressing.

You’ve gotta understand,

You've not been a (hu)man.

Not a preacher,

More of a creature.

We’re all sick and tired,

Of the stuff you've preached.

Cause it doesn't make,

A lick of sense.