Dear Diary

Touched down in South America, son I couldn't believe,

the utter hopelessness, all the people dreaming to leave.

Half my family's from the hood, son they'd never conceive,

that they live in paradise compared to others who lead

a life of total hopelessness, staring at a sea of homeless kids,

while people in my country making million dollar bonuses.

It seems the main component is a wicked history,

that we vaguely understand, stays shrouded in mystery.

It's a cold world, my people wanna die or get rich,

on one level it's offensive, otherwise ridiculous.

I believe in blissful ignorance but think it's a sin,

centuries have come and gone and yet the same evil men

keep on running shit and keep an iron grip around our governments,

we buy expensive products and these motherfuckers lovin' it.

So try to find the logic but it don't make sense,

that we should prosper off a legacy of crooked presidents.

Dear diary, a lot of crazy shit's been going on but there's peace inside of me.

Dear diary, I see a lot of trouble in the world, I let the hand keep guiding me.

Dear diary, a billion people starving on this planet and they suffer quietly.

Dear diary, I sense an angel standing in my corner and she's watching silently.

Dear diary...

Dear diary, I try to be a better man,

than I was the day before but then again it's tiring.

I'm trying to hold on to what little shred of faith,

I still have left in this human race.

It's a jungle out there and I try to stay humble,

but as soon as you let your guard down they take advantage of you.

It's true, I really want to be a believer,

but there's always someone out there to deceive or mislead ya.

So pardon me if I don't always seem eager,

to have people blow smoke up my ass like beekeepers.

If you can't beat 'em join 'em, is not what I believe in,

my feeling is if you can't join 'em beat 'em.

That's the maxim as long as I'm alive and breathing,

I'm trying to get ahead instead of trying to get even.

In a world where a few fuck it up for many,

I'm just striving to stay in the percent above fifty.

I keep walking as the world turns colder,

with a dollar in my pocket and a chip on my shoulder.

Behold the polar opposite of sober,

punch drunk luck with a one leaf clover.

The vocal soldier with a bayonette mic,

it serves as a sign that I say what I like.

They don't like what they hear I strike fear in the right,

despite being a cynic I'm sincere in the fight.

Keep having reoccurring pipe dreams,

of a planet of light beings, focused on what's love and enlightening.

It might seem useless to continue fighting,

when the obstacles seem insurmountable and vices enticing.

I rock it for my soldiers who embrace the discipline,

the political dissident and progressive citizen.

Want a planet where my grandchildren swimming in,

clean water, sunshine, but now it's smog days so kids be staying in.

by Eastern Sunz