We gather here, the future in our hands,
Dreams of change slipping through the sands.
They speak of freedom, of paths to be free,
Yet shadows linger where no one can see.
They talk of justice, they promise grace,
Yet power moves in its hidden space.
Our voices rise, like whispers in the wind,
But do they listen, or fear what’s within?

 

A promise on paper, but where’s the soul?
We turn the wheel, yet who holds control?
Our hopes they borrow, our dreams they spin,
While the world keeps turning, worn and thin.

 

They paint the skies with silver and gold,
Yet the cracks beneath quietly unfold.
We reach for change, they build a divide,
A silent barrier where truths collide.
The hands we trust write stories unseen,
Guiding the lines between hope and machine.
And yet we stand, with banners held high,
Chasing the echoes of a fleeting sky.

 

A promise on paper, but where’s the soul?
We turn the wheel, yet who holds control?
Our hopes they borrow, our dreams they spin,
While the world keeps turning, worn and thin.

 

They say the choice is ours, the road is wide,
But the paths are carved where few confide.
In whispered halls, decisions are made,
And we are the shadows cast by their parade.

 

A promise on paper, but where’s the soul?!
We turn the wheel, yet who holds control?
Our hopes they borrow, our dreams they spin,
While the world keeps turning, worn and thin.