Each tortured twisted human,
Judged and on the outskirts of salvation,
Before the world can understand,
A trail of inspiration,
In each one God had a hand,
Their plight is an illusion,
Looking back we see Gods plan,
Evolving consciousness, their contribution.
Inside their passion glows,
They speak without a plea,
Plagued by their earthly woes,
Their troubles set them free,
It is the broken and the lonely,
Who impact our history.
They sing because their unstable,
They paint to push out pain,
They’re not hippies for the label,
They dance despite the rain,
They write when they’re distressed,
They are full of grief and shame,
Seeking yet still perplexed,
For their purpose in which they came,
Through sharing of their arts,
Their suffering not in vain,
Awakening peoples hearts,
Gods ultimate campaign.
Shaynanigans 