This world ain't a wasteland
It just taste that way some times.
It depends on the angle
On how you read your lines.

For every brick we stack to come together to build
There's a sick little crack in this foundation still.
Humans! I can't accept them.
Trying to understand them
And what fuels them and their essence.
I'm looking for some leverage.
Catch up, trying to catch me.
Curse-ed, depress-ed.
Here to make you happy.
"Hey daddy tell me why the clown is crying."
"Well son he's got the task of cheering up the ill and dying.
On top of that everybody thinks that he's insane.
Can't fathom why he'd wanna ease their pain."
Walking through this maze made of concrete walls
When you're not allowed to climb there's no way to possibly fall.
When your hands are restricted to hold nothing but self
How can you get a grip?
How can you pick up what you're dealt?
The clown stays sad.
The ground stays hard.
With a couple pounds of migraine, a pocket full of scars.
But the face stays painted on for everyone to gaze upon
continuing the bad dream till he wakes up gone.