The Rebirth of the Self

Look at the streets tonight, a generation drowning in the darkStaring at glowing screens, waiting for a temporary spark.They sold their passions cheap to buy a trend that fades awayA modern ghost town where the youth has nothing left to say.Lost in the noise of empty words, trapped in a shallow gameTrading their souls for numbers, where every face looks the same.The cold concrete is crowded with these empty, ghost desiresIt is crowded with young zombies walking straight into the fires.They call it progress, but it looks like a beautiful decayA cage of velvet where the young minds slowly rot away.But the water is rising, cutting through the heavy sheet of greyThe digital sceptre is pointing to a brand new rising day.You can break the chains of this generational declineThe only escape is written on a sharp, independent line.Art is the weapon, art is the medicine for the blindA permanent stream of emotion leaving the mud behind.It is passion, it is growth, it is the fire inside your chestThe rebirth of the self, screaming from the mountain crest.Two thousand canvases shouting out what words can never speakA natural power designed to heal the wounded and the weak.We don't care about the market, we don't care about the fameWe are rewriting the rules, breaking out of the corporate frame.True internal growth is something that cannot be bought or sold.Wake up from the slumber, look at the colors on the wallLet the canvas take your hand and watch the corporate empire fall.From the midnight of the streets to the dawn of an endless skyNature always wins.And art will never die!