The Dying Idealist

When times were simple
And colours were few
White and black were the only
Shades we knew

Then came the artists
With twisted reach
Gave us a greater scale
Did anything but bleach

Dying is the idealist
His soul, it cries
For right was never served to him
With its right prize

Fading is the idealist
And his very spirit
They mock him and humiliate
While he's shown out to sit

The answer it seems
That everyone wants
Is not the right but the correct one
And it hurts the man. It haunts.

It haunts to see that money's
All that there's to thee
And power and the alpha male might.
Yet he moves on very bravely

For though outnumbered
He stays unblinded through the bright light
While changing are the seasons
And change with them the sights.

You'd think, dying is the idealist
Yes, his soul - it cries
But he's only made stronger
By his truth between your lies

And so he moves on with his
Wealth to keep - a clear soul
A clean slate and ever
Wanting, ever doing more

The answer's the right one
The ones that fail to see
Are the ones so chained
The ones that need to be freed
 -Sahil