To Whom It May Concern,

The city is a beehive, it's deadly unfourtanetley simple. One million tree lined streets with branches like haunting arms. Your houses are tombstones built on reservations and self neglect. Now the windows watch your shadows fade.
You've swallowed your revolution. You've sold your gift. The walking dead all made up plastic skin. The walking dead all force their smiles. What have you done? How will you numb yourself next? Righteousness, you've made yourself a prison. How I wish you were all as smart as you would like to think you are. You filthy rats, you eat, fight, fuck and sleep now fill in the blanks.
I'm floating in space, I'm searching for survivors. I'm looking for answers just like you.
I'm watching the mirrors, I spit in my face. Anger, like laughing at your own jokes. As you slowly become what you claim to hate.
I tell you this with one foot in the grave. Here is your cracker jack prize. Here is your American romance. Tell this to your kids when you tuck them in at night:

It's all in the struggle my friend, it's bullets and flowers/
It's that soft hum you all here but you never quite mention/
Your beauty is in your faults, spill your guts and share your scars/
Stop taking this life for granted/
Be honest, be afraid, only you can judge yourself/
Be afraid, be honest, freedom is personal/
The mircale is by your side not in the stars/

That's it I'm so sick I can hardly move and all of the angels have problems of their own.
See you always forget that I need you far more than you need me.