In a sense, innocence is a dying art
In a sense, innocents are not without wrongdoing

Coincidence and Fate approach one another, not knowing exactly what was about to occur.
“This was bound to happen,” breathes Fate.
“Oh come on, we’ve simply run into each other,” doubts Coincidence.

For instance, infants are widely regarded as
Having a clean slate.
Now, what we do with that blamelessness is up to us
However, mistaking one another as simply sinners

Is wholly a mistake in itself

We cower
From the dishonesty that plagues our world

Let’s not knot the world’s morality
More than we already have

They say “mind over matter”
But how can that matter?

We owe it to them
To reply with “oh”

Without innocence in the world,
How can we live with ourselves?

The world is a whirlwind of a development lacking in necessary truths

In a sense, innocence is a dying art
Lies surround us everyday, whether we tell them or not

I’ve seen this world’s untrustworthy scene unfold, and I’m not amused
I am, and I’m sure we all are, exasperated from today’s standards

“Just listen to me,” chides Conscience.
“But how can we be sure you know what’s right?” prompts Possibility. 

They are the people we’ve wronged,
Those who need reminders
That there is some good in this world----------------------Without this knowledge, we’re all doomed.