The world

Cheff
The world never stopped,
and man never learned to slow down.
Always chasing power,
stepping on lives, on land, on ground.
He steals the earth, calls it progress,
names destruction “evolution.”
To kill, he creates excuses,
to hurt, he waves a flag of illusion.
The world is lost,
man has lost his mind,
repeating the same mistakes
in the very same place, every time.
They never learned how to speak,
only how to shout and command.
Pull here, break there,
as if pain was part of the plan.
They draw borders with pens,
decide who lives, who dies,
but on the ground lie small bodies
no leader ever tries to justify.
Children sleep with fear,
wake up to thunder and flame.
It’s not rain falling from the sky,
it’s bombs, fire, and shame.
Toys turn into rubble,
schools into dust and smoke.
Childhood ends too early
when war is the joke.
The world watches on a screen,
changes the channel, eats and rests,
as if suffering were a movie
you can pause, mute, or forget.
Do they let the man suffer? No.
They let the child bleed instead.
She never chose this war,
but learns hate before learning bread.
Give them half an hour in her place,
half an hour with no protection,
no mother, no father, no home,
only hunger, fear, and destruction.
Would man finally learn?
Would pride fall to the ground?
Or does he only understand pain
when it’s his blood, his sound?
Meanwhile the world keeps turning,
leaders speak of peace and pray,
with clean words in microphones
and dirty hands that kill each day.
Man forgot what it means to be human,
became numbers, profit, and land.
And the child of war grows up
without childhood, without a helping hand.
How long will this cycle last?
How long will the sky burn red?
If even an innocent child’s cry
can’t wake the world from the dead.

Country rock with pedal steel guitar fiddle telecaster guitar riffs piano drums soft music strong loud male vocals