The Paradox Of A Pointed Finger

There's so many diseases
So much pain,
Our seeking doctor- fix, pleases
Only our little
Brain.
So luxurious, to complain
But
what got us here in the first place?

We point a finger or two,
In another persons face
Shame him
For smoking,
Or drinking without pace;
Or;
Lying to his wife,
Not leaving a single
Trace.

But when the gun is cocked
When your ammo ready and stocked
When your scales of judment tipped
When your ego's pumped and ripped.
Single out, not one
Not one tiny tiney flaw
Cuz the gun that's about to fire;
coming from your paw,
Is aimed in your direction,
Thats the cold hard fact,
raw.

Judge not lest ye be judged.

It's not really him,
With whom you should concern;
But the man in the mirror
Who's image is bouned to burn.
Everything you do, comes back 10 fold in return.

Wake me up, please
When it's over,
The mess thats in my head
Is startlingly sober,
What I see now, is in red.

All the fun and games;
Making fun of folk
Is a sickening cherade;
A temporary toke.
When the moment fades,
And I think about what was said
All I wanna do, is crawl up in my bed,
Pull the covers over my eyes
Not take responsibility
Yet, now I am certain
It clouds my own ability,
To get closer to the source
Of unconditional love,
real security.

No one is alone.