Cheap

I bet you think you're a real intellectual,
Watching episodes of family guy,
Commenting on how every joke,
Is such a stark reflection,
Of reality.

I bet you think you're a real empath,
Looking the other way,
Away from tears and suffering,
Instead of observing and,
Turning the other cheek.

I bet you think you're a metal martyr,
For a right and true cause,
But your plastic skin and,
Surgical scars within,
Show the world what you are:
Fake, room temperature-
-and cheap.

You say with such passion,
That you would die for your cause,
Buried under the rubble,
Of a hundred bombshells destruction,
Blasting your "truth" through the airwaves,
Like an air raid siren.

You act a certain way,
In the public light,
When the cameras are rolling,
And everyone is watching,
As you disguise yourself,
Don't let demise be felt,
As a million men and women,
And children die, become the fallen.

Concern is not your forte.
That is to say, as long as it doesn't concern you.

Those who die in your own backyard,
Are neatly swept up,
Their corpses disposed of,
Like cigarette butts and ashes,
To ashes,
"There's nothing to be done,"
The anthem of a million backlashes,
Before they turn revolution.