The Times

whoa, we're children of the immigration
the procrastination
top of the world but we don't even know what we're standing on
news reporters commenting on the fair weather
we got thirty pairs of shoes but no idea who made the leather
we talk about stickin it to the authorities
then we turn off our brains and consume 3 hours of MTV
they got us on plastic leashes
because we're just a flock of blind sheep
bound by plastic reasons
getting tricked to think that we can buy our beauty
using their products they claim which satisfy, say we need
but what's a house without a home,
the new paint and perfect lawn if its hiding ashes inside
everyday the father strides across the perfect flowers,
past the polished door frame into the living room, dead
with the tears of a son who solves his pain with video games
with the tears of a daughter who will never trust another man again
with the tears of an infant who doesn't have enough to eat
with the tears of a mother who is scared of the place she sleeps
dead, but the vintage furniture collects every drop
the stainless carpet is a still ocean, the paintings on the wall don't whisper
a word.

mother vacuums the floor twice a week but her little girl still cuts herself everyday
father drives the fastest car but doesn't know the way to his own son's heart
the TV gets bigger and bigger, the ipods get smaller and smaller,
the lights get brighter and brighter, the SAT scores get higher and higher
and the house is filled with sound, sounds of everything possible--
of things blowing up, cars roaring, plates grinding, water running, feet scuffling, music blasting, TV babbling, AIM chiming, clock striking, fire crackling, a pencil falling but no conversations,
what's a house without a home? 

What's the use of a flawless exterior if the inside is crumbling?
Of what use is it if a man gains the whole world, but forfeits his soul?