Strange is this world… where mercy wears a mask and silence feeds the fire. Strange is this world, where love is feared, where kind words bruise and hatred’s cheered. They smile with knives behind their teeth, and bless the flame that burns beneath. The louder truth begins to cry, the faster liars learn to fly. I’ve watched the gentle lose their voice, the cruel parade like kings by choice. No savior came, no choir sang just bells that toll, and wolves that hang. Strange is this world! Where hearts are torn in light! Where wrong walks proud in robes of white! And still… and still… we kneel and pray for dawn to wipe the ash away. Strange is this world! Where silence kills the true, and every soul must burn or bow and call that peace… somehow. I’ve seen men weep for songs they wrote, then drown their hope in poisoned notes. I’ve seen the sky forget to shine, and justice weep in churchlike wine. But I… I won’t forget. And I won’t bend. This voice will rise until the end. Strange is this world! But stranger still is love it dares to grow where bombs have flown, it lifts the lost, it stands alone. I scream beneath cathedral stone: We are not done. We are not gone. We burn with truth. We carry on. So strange… this world. But I… am stranger still.
