Congregate where you need to be gathered in the common

Looking up or down ... waiting for truth to summon

Remembering faces of the past where anger ruled with restriction

And darkness possessed common ground ... with truth as a victim

As time moves on and memory fades ... forget the facade of rage

Just accept then the gilded mask ... as a victim in this race

What is under that gilded mask ... was it there before?

Isn’t it the same old house ... with just a new front door?

Are the owners of that house ... the lords of the slum?

Really sad ... where cream can’t rise cause of scum

Questions surround me as heavy smog ... and to breathe is a chore

I’m barely hanging on with tearful eyes ... I can’t find the "Only" door