This crisis, that crisis
Take your bloody pick
My unquiet, troubled mind
Is now beginning to itch
The “good old days”
Well, they never existed
Cause we’re often unhappy
Unless everything’s twisted
I turn on the news
For my daily big dose
Of life without light
And existence without hope
Encouraged to be fearful
And reluctant to give
How the hell did I forget
That we were all meant to live
For so much more