If everyone in the world dumped their problems into a big collective pile, most of us would cry and then shamefully pick up our problems and go home.

Life has become without consequence,
Yes I know, it seems against sense.

Goals? Purpose?

Possessed by many of all,
Why bother when so many fall?

Only meant in a melancholy way,
this is all rather depressing, you might say.

Plans and dreams of nations so grand,
Eyes turned from the death of the land.

Why oh why are their prayers not heard?
I laugh and point to the death of the herd.

This news has never been new,
In the eyes of all and all,

Are there really things which plague you?
Do you really have problems too?