November 13th.

They think they are exempt from thought

As if that makes any sense to this earth;

Like the things in this world that cannot be bought

Are nothing more than the street lights they stride beneath;

And they continue to boast about how perfect perfection seems

And they continue to wonder why they feel so alone;

For all the gold in the world that constantly teems,

And for the sins they will never atone.

In this world they were brought up 

And it is here where they reside

In this place they've come to be corrupt

Where faiths break and hopes collide;

Where angels cry out in disbelief,

Where shame engulfs them as they delve

Towards the demons that writhe in a cluttered wreath

And scream in frustration: "Go! Save yourselves!"