If You Ask Me to Point Out

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There is something about society

That really makes me sick

And if you ask me to point it out

I’ll tell you that you can take your pick:

It is the injustice done to the other

The one that doesn’t quite fit in

That one that isn’t popular,

Maybe too thick, or simply too thin.

It is the look of raw disgust

To the ones that are not the same

As all the others that are in

This rat-race end game.

It is the superior attitude

Of the ones with pockets more heavy

Than those that work an honest day

And drive a rusted out-dated Chevy.

It is the one who thinks

That to prove he is so strong

Beats on his wife without once

Thinking that he could be wrong.

It is the governments that waste

The youth of this world in battle

Treating them as if they were no better

Than fodder, the sacrificial cattle.

It is the looks that I get

When I tell the world these things

And know that there are some

Who hear the truth as it rings.

It is the ones that hear this truth

And are beat down and kept back

By the few that somehow control

The direction of every attack.

It is the feelings that I get

When I walk out and all I meet

Is the apathy we bask in

On every corner, every street.

It is the fact I can keep going

And not run out of things to say

And that you nod in agreement

But we both continue to look the other way.

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