Nahno McLein

It makes me sick to sit and look upon the shit this planet cooks, the mean, destructive habit, and corruptness human beings bring.

It makes me sick to hear kids crying, caused by senseless, ceaseless hunger, amidst a civilized new century,

It makes me sick to hear the sorrows, solo thousands, loudly shout outside, but without help.

It makes me sick to see the people dying; uncontrolled hysteria of fellow humans banish souls within the ticking of a clock.

It makes me sick to see big-headed businessmen who care about less else than money they can use to waste their lives unnecessarily.

It makes me sick to watch the government conducting vast, manipulating competitions for the purpose to deceive their selfish folk.

It makes me sick to taste what nature won’t provide, invented by those people who demolish their own health.

It makes me sick to smell the work of human kind, inducing me to suffocate in their environment.

It makes me sick to lose a miracle by blinking with an eye, when it existed longer than this greedy kind.

Everything is there to see and everybody knows. Why do only the few react? This leaves us nothing than a buzz, a single buzz: the devil calling to declare, the victory is his.