Elephant

There is a little problem
A box at the bottom of the sea
That we cannot see, thus cannot feel
The lines between what is real,
Have become quite surreal
Blurry, a flurry
5,000 conversations been spoken at once
And my ears are too torn
From headphones trying to drown out the sound
Of the monotonous nothing
That fills our streets
That dresses our people
That destroys our children
That drags these tectonic plates further and further away
That desensitise nations
That essentially kills

With bags over our head
We act like we are dead
Pretty little things
Buying pretty like things
Exploiting other little things.

For that creation
That hangs on your skeletal formation
Blood has poured from childrens hands
Starving with heavy breath
Dreaming of salvation
While you drink champagne in celebration

The thing that concerns me
Is that everybody knows
Exactly how corruption rolls
But folk are just stuck in a sickening pose

And we are comfortable
Oh so comfortable
Who needs jesus or hope
We hang ourselves with satin rope

And further and further
We move away
In silence of the decay

Until the day of redemption
Until nobody suffers for the success of another
I shall set up camp
In the belly
Of the elephant in the room.