We call it our own.

What makes this world of ours our own?
The seeds of hate we've slyly sown?

Maybe it's the land we bought,
then blindly let stagnate and rot.

No!It must be all those things we say,
"I'll buy her love!Oh yes,I'll pay."

But every seed that's ever sown, will propagate 'til fully grown.

And no matter how much land we sell, our hearts will never learn to swell.

And that love that feels but so profound,when paid for only brings us down.

And make us long for life before.Before the covet.Before the horde.

But yesterday is nevermore.