we turn our backs, we leave them to drown
at the bottom of barrels where they'll never be found
now on with the burial, trample the ground
we don't even blink
rescue teams sent in with a stick
offering them an end, but it's covered in shit
climbing hand over hand, but they can't get a grip we don't even think

we can stamp out the fire or piss gas on the flames
question your fate!
strand them alone on a moss covered stone
or lead to a chance at a face and a name
take a seat on the sidelines or strive for a change
it's not too late!
wishing and wanting and wasting our lives
or holding our hands out for someone to take

competition that overwhelms
generations convinced cooperation has failed
ride along on the coat tails of dominant males
we accept as fate
definition designed to instill
that our representation is that of free will
limitations in place due to absence of skill
but it's not too late