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In youths solitude the forging begins.
Quantities that never will be satisfied.
Preparing the young for the thirst
to get every last drop of attention.
Eyes caged to the artificial figures.
Slit wrists bleeding on the catwalk.
Hearts hold quiet, veins pumping air.

A stilted smile...
Repaint it all. Refuse it all.

As grind is my brush I repaint the truth.
Scrape the old canvas clean,
all the coating, all the protections,
all the truth-bending lies, all the capitalistic thrives.

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