Fabricated Progression

How did we end up in this position?

In a world decayed by corruption?

How did generations let them decide?

They call it progress, we call it mistakes

Our environment is something different

From gray paint and flower paintings when age takes away our parents and hair loses color from frustration

We've gotta find it

We've gotta grab it and never let go until we've conquered it

Thinking forward we should do something

Learning from out elder's mistakes

How did generations let them decide that it would be ok to gamble tomorrow?