Corrosion

The needles rusting in their cushions
the scissors corroding away
the fabric stained and mildewed
the white dress all musty and gray, cast away

Such are the minds,
such are the times
such are the people
no longer refined

This world isn't what I would want it to be
this world is no place for me

And I brought children into this world
Doesn't that make me guilty of
making this world into more of the same
Doesn't that make me to blame?