Ruins

I feel we fear change more than everything we have,
more than a bomb on our home, more than death itself.
The clock in our heads is ticking,
deafening, we are condemned on the ruins of our security.
Words don't mean a thing until we use them not to react, but just to follow, they're just compulsive symptoms of cultures we don't belong to anymore.
What's left of the words of the past?
Plastic faces,
skulls and bones so today
I'm trying to use my own words,
and still want to understand yours.
Screaming fucking is not enough, not anymore.
I want to know.