Put your two cents in,
Speak up for change kid.
It's time to make your mark
On this world that you're living in.
You're society now,
You're another number,
But you've gotta strive
To be an outlier.
Tip the scales
So they're weighed in your favor.
You gotta change the world
Till you like its flavor.
Put your two cents in,
Speak up for change kid.
Its time to make your mark
On this world that you're living in.
Shoulder some blame
And stop worrying about fame.
Whether its the fight
That made Martin Luther the king
Or you're standing up for something right
Or just doing the right thing.
Put your two cents in,
Speak up for change kid.
Its time to make your mark
On this world that you're living in.

It starts in your heart
Then it pumps to your blood.
The art of dying isn't hard to master.
Then it moves to your bones
Then into your nerves.
Now its moving faster.
It spreads to your head,
Soon you'll be dead.
The art of dying isn't hard to master.
It feeds on your dreams
And snacks on your hopes.
Now you're dying faster and faster.
You're losing your thoughts
And your memories are gone.
The art of dying isn't hard to master.
Now your skin is pale
And your lips are white.
You couldn't have died faster.
The art of dying was not hard to master.

I shake
At the thought of losing you.
It starts in my head,
Then goes to my hand,
Till I can hardly write.
Then it spreads to my legs,
"Stop thinking!" they beg,
"So you can sleep at night".
I break
At the thought of losing you.
It starts in my heart,
(Oh what a place to start)
Till I feel nothing at all.
Then it spreads to my fist,
Sometimes to my wrist,
As my hand breaks against the wall.
I ache
At the thought of losing you.
It starts in my belly,
Then my legs turn to jelly,
Till finally, I fall.
Then it spreads to my lungs
And then to my tongue,
Till all I can do is bawl.

It's poetry isn't it?
A caged bird.

Bones.
Homes.
Hearts.
Minds.
All of these,
Must someday break.

What we have here
Is a dreamer,
Someone completely out of touch
With reality.
Someone who jumped
Thinking they would fly.
Who knew
The rain falls because they cry.
What we have here
Is a dreamer,
Someone whose naivety
Got the best of them.
Someone who ran
Thinking no one could catch them.
Who knew
The world spun for them.
What we have here
Is a dreamer,
Someone who was killed
By a nightmare.

All I really know for sure
Is that my love for you is pure.