What do you tell a child
that you've been protecting from the grim and the wild?
All'f a sudden those little white lies don't seem so mild.
So a status quo solution to politicize, rationalize, disenfranchise, proselytize?
Or bury myself in coping mechanisms like cynicism?
Or Is it any better to close my ears and my eyes?
I go to work. I go to work. I go to work. I go to work.
These emotions have no words to quell
the urge to purge the infotainment news outlets have to sell.
Time won't stop for me to take another look,
yet another tragedy becomes a footnote in this book.
We go to work. We go to work. We go to work. We go to work.
The problem lingers with pointed fingers, taking no responsibility.
In this panicked but strangely familiar daze, I look for humility.
Time to work. Time to work. Time to work. Time to work.