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World is so morose, lives in despair,
pointing fingers do they die,
Saying, Why? But Why me?
Do they ask, but still they die.

Rude are those who point fingers at others,
Rudeness does run through their veins,
I didn't point a finger yet, so I can say,
That I am not the herald of rudeness.

He cries, prejudiced is the world against me,
So do I die in despair, Or do I Live in peace,
But he chose to die in despair, and let the peace be
For the world was the only thing that he cared.