Of Apathy

Of course they'd assume suicide their only approach,
If every little thing they do is met with social reproach.

We are a sick machine built to weed out dissent,
Everyone is just looking for consent in similarity.
So many tragedies we have the power to prevent,
Only our lies are said with any sense of sincerity.

There are too many crosses littering the ground,
Too many die to the sound; of nothing, of apathy.