There is a vast place, unknown to the norm
It exists in all colors, all shapes, and all forms
It exists in all countries and all walks of life
It's name may be Pain, or Suffering, or Strife
This vast place is growing, and yet we are blind
We see trivialities, yet we are biding our time
We are only delaying that which must come to pass:
The point when we ourselves join this place at last
This vast place is seething with fire and rage
Yet we see only blackness or grayness or haze
We've turned a blind eye to the obvious truth
And it's left us susceptible, like corruptible youth
And really, in the end, when this place lights ablaze
When it burns all the blackness and grayness and haze
We will still try to run, try to turn away cold
But that vast, hot inferno will burn through our souls
It will devour in hatred all of our ideals
It will seek for its anger endless half-filling meals
And it will never be full, not until the end
When all that turned away from it is burned and blackened
Because that vast place that becomes a harsh fire
Is our country's foundation, it's situation is dire
Yet we'll turn a blind eye, and we'll let it fall down
And it will crumble beneath us, yet we'll make not a sound
It will shatter to ashes, it will burn straight to sand
And yet we, the people, will still in ignorance stand
Until in the end, when the foundation falls through
