BLAME YOURSELF
Man
Inherently flawed
From whence do these expectations arise?
How can one go against the very nature
That makes him who he is?
The problem is not man
T'is our minds
The fantasy world of perfection,
We believe should be a reality
We are the orchestras
Of our own disappointments
Man
With all that you have been given
You choose to remain at the base of the ladder
Gathering grains which fall from the sky
When you can climb, soar
And make those grains, rain instead
You are not perfect, you say
-No one is.
So you hide behind your flaws
And make no strife towards perfection
You are the orchestra
Of your imminent downfall
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