Blue Murder

I know, I care, I think, I’m aware
but I can’t find a sweet escape
from all the awful things in this world.
I’m powerful, yet powerless,
this is the truth, I must confess
that I can’t take it anymore,
but it’s not up to only me
and no one ever listens
when I try to speak.
There’s something that I
so desperately want to say,
need to say,
but I don’t know what it is,
nor to whom it should be said.
I know enough is enough,
so should I cry blue murder?
Or should I say I just don’t care?
I don’t know whether
the voices in my head
really ought to be there, and if
I really want them to be silenced.
There’s too much wrong,
and not enough right,
I’ve been waiting a lifetime in this darkness,
and I’ve yet to see the light.
Where’s the hope in murder?
Where’s the beauty in rape?
Where the fuck is a sweet escape
from all the awful things in this world?
I’m going crazy, though I was never really sane,
but I can’t get the thought of raging warfare
out of mind frightened brain.
My eyes have seen so many horrors,
but none of them compare
to the world as it stands,
spinning out of control
and nobody seems to care.
Where’s the hope in warfare?
Where’s the beauty in disease?
Where the fuck is a sweet escape
from all the awful things in this world?
I could watch the sun’s ray’s of light
Drip like honey through the leaves,
and close my eyes, or look away,
before those rays fell to the ground
and hit a thousand graves,
of men, women and children
who had all met their deaths
through thefts and murders,
conflicts and abuse,
or the sad few who saw it,
and reached for the noose.
I could play music so loud
that it became the oxygen
in my bloodstream,
and let it rush through my veins,
become the beat of my heart,
pumping so loudly,
that I would not hear,
the sirens and crashes,
the cries and the screams
the shriek of speeding tyres
as they shatter lives and dreams.
I could let my paint-stained fingers
create colours and images, vivid and bright,
far from reality, but close to what we want to see.
I could look at all the small and simple beauties
in this wonderful world, and ignore everything else,
but I won’t.
As I look at the sun rising over the graves
I’ll ask why so many people have to die.
As the sirens howl over the sound of Stitches
I’ll break down and cry,
as I ask myself why we’ve let this come to be?
Where’s the hope in the here and now?
Where’s the beauty in human beings?
Where the fuck is a sweet escape
from all the awful things in this world?
I can never say things
exactly the way I want to,
I’m never loud enough to be heard,
or harsh enough to be remembered,
I’ve never had the power to make a change
but that’s because it’s not just up to me.

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Tags:

life, people and world