Dead Culture

What kind of culture are we
 When it's the hungry feeding the starving
 The dying helping the dead
 The upset counseling the depressed?
 This is world is coming to an end, I guess
 I can lend a helping hand even if I'm missing fingers
 But I've witnessed people bear arms before they reach out, figures
 Humankind usually isn't
 We learn to survive with the life that we're given
 And we usually give up before we give back
 It's the ethics that we lack
 And the fact that we never listen
 Even if we're
 Talking to our own conscience up a top of a steep building
 We don't know what to tell our self-esteem
 So he leaps and it kills him, but
 He can't die on impact if he never made one
 Or of a heart attack if he never showed love
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 And hopefully you have once because I know I have twice
 Just to fall on my own knife to fight the fear of blood
 And twist it clockwise because hard times are realistic
 And still no one listens, I'm asking why
 But to me, nobody's telling
 Why would this backwards both logic and spelling
 It's like casting spells and praying within the same sentence
 I'm life-sentencing myself away from the senseless
 The way I gravitate to the compelling
 So I push myself to be alone
 As the hope come and goes
 Like the ebb and flow of the ghost of acceptance
 The wealthy hung by a fucking rope
 I'm hanging by a thread
 Go ahead and pull it, see what unravels me next
 My rivals survive while I'm trying to keep my breath
 Because I already lost my faith
 I'm ready to chase the red-faced demon, they say
 What if God was one of us
 But what if the Devil was in the same body?
 What if I told you that body was yours?
 Would you embody the fact that your reliable source is unknown
 And that every scripture could've been whispered
 Misheard like a bad game of telephone?
 'Cause everybody likes to talk
 But not everyone wants to listen
 Turns the bible into a firestarter and a work of fiction
 Turns the world into a place of fear and conviction
 Where everyones a convict
 That sticks to their strict version of jurisdiction
 And I can see the gavel slam in the way that you look at me
 As you dissect and decide if I'm street smart or just street
 Got me feeling like a bum and I'm bummed out, certainly
 Certain things are best left unsaid
 Certain things are best left dying
 Dying is the only thing binding us as a whole
 When the chain of brains grow nothing but mold
 And nothing but gray and matter
 But nothing matters when nothing's bold
 In the dead culture of a
 Death cult