Lord Come Home

The price of life's a bullet in the chest,

Empty plates cry while the rich ones feast.

They tax the dreams right out your hands,

Leave you drowning in the shifting sands.

Kids in the dark with no light to hold,

Streets got 'em selling their souls for gold.

Trump’s voice echoes but the cracks still bleed,

While snakes in suits plant their greed like seeds.

Lord come home, the night’s too long,

Demons dance to a broken song.

Heaven’s just a word they sold,

While we’re buying hell with our own gold.

Addiction’s hands around my throat,

Life’s a noose, can’t stay afloat.

They trade our pain for corporate checks,

Prison cells or hospital beds.

Traffic lights flash on stolen lives,

Children vanish in the dead of night.

Cameras watch but they never see,

Just more chains disguised as “free.”

Every job’s a ticking bomb,

Insurance cards but no relief.

They want us numb, they want us weak,

While the sirens sing our eulogy.

Lord come home, the night’s too long,

Demons dance to a broken song.

Heaven’s just a word they sold,

While we’re buying hell with our own gold.