The Terror of Perfection

I crossed out these lines so many times
As I rewrote dead words to find the right rhymes.
But nothing seemed to fit in, nothing could describe the animosity
This world has to deal with.

Instead of walking our paths hand in hand
We stand as reckless rivals, alone in the end.
We are born with a free mind, brought up to compete.
Nothing ever tempts the pressure to succeed.

A generation that lives to dig its own grave.
I'm sure no one will ever speak their names.
Working on their monuments, I won't deliver my bones.
This casket will be filled with stones.

The steady contest leaves us desperate and blind.
We've grown heartless, tired, grave and unkind.
When the body's a machine, one unlearns sympathy.
Still the wheel spins on, so viciously.

A generation that lives to dig its own grave.
I'm sure no one will ever speak their names.
Working on their monuments, I won't deliver my bones.
This casket will be filled with stones.

Where the cycle breaks comes the machinery to rest.
And the mind awakes,
sees its place and role in this, becomes dangerous.

As fathers go their sons will grow
And nothing mends the steady flow
And man remains man's greatest foe.

Are we never enough? Never strong enough, never fast enough?
Are we never enough? Never beautiful, never good enough?
'Cause it seems like I am always a little
less of everything this world wants me to be.
And it seems like I am always one step away of accomplishing anything.

Where the cycle breaks comes the machinery to rest.
And the mind awakes, sees its place and role in this,
Becomes dangerous,
becomes dangerous, becomes dangerous. We are dangerous.