Those with voice are those without heart They are the gluttonous that will still rip the meat from your bones for sustenance The rich that steal from those with nothing The leeches, decked in gold feast upon common blood.
Let my barbaric cry echo through these mountains that surround me Let the very breath from my lungs be heard, and let it flow through you.
This is all that I have, my voice of tribute to the broken To those with crushed spirits, and clouded minds that let their fury grow inside Until it renders them blind.
We have our eyes wide open, and for it we are hated. We are traitors, and we are tomorrow.
So, let the scripture of yesteryear ring true today We aren't perfect, but we learn from our mistakes. But we won't hear what we once had to say, our only option is to keep wishing our time away.
This is my letter to a world that never wrote to me, wrote to me, This is my letter to a world that never wrote to me.