The rain falls like the tears of a newborn child
Slowly flooding the streets of a dying planet
The mother is ill, and sick of trying so hard
To fight off the bad times, she just wants some sleep
As we pretend that nothings wrong, the concrete envelops us 
Like a swarming crypt
These hard-luck stories are never enough to bring us from the daze of self-centered apathy
The worse things get, the more we pretend
Second hand living has become first hand nature
Hand to mouth, cradle to grave
Bend the silver spoon in your mouth, until it cracks every last fucking tooth out