At first I see an open wound
Infected and disastrous.
It breaths chaotic catastrophe,
It cries to be renewed.
Its tears are the color of anger,
They dry to form a scab.
To the touch, it's stiff and resilient,
Underneath, the new skin breaths.
As outwardly cliché as it may seem,
Yes, something under thesurface says, "C'est la vie."
It is a circle, there is a plan,
Dead skin will atrophy itself to start again.
Look past that open wound,
See past what covers the surface.
Underneath chaotic catastrophe,
Creation takes the stage.
It's all been saved,
With the exception for the right parts.
When will we be new skin?
It's all been seen,
With the exception for what could be.
When will we be new skin?
Fallacious cognitious
spewed from televisions
Do Mold our decisions.
So stop and take a look
And you'll see what I see now.