Anger and envy

Spite... Envy of those who are richer and higher.
 I am kinder than all of them - why are they, and not me?!
 We cry out to the heavens, we address the mantra to the Almighty,
 But silence in response. And only hope for yourself...
 
 And I will destroy the pedestal on which the scum was placed.
 Yes, I'm ruining myself... Not ready to publicly rebel.
 My killer is awake. Waiting for me to rise from the mud
 And I will want to become a Prince, denouncing the "people's" power.
 
 A pair of wings is given... You can't see them, but that's the beauty of it.
 Given the talent to compose, the lines of the nervous heart to weave.
 Anger and envy inside. I'm not an angel, just a harbinger.
 They will not wait for me when I call to sweep it all away.
 
 To kill, to die, is not for me, for the good of a few.
 I am an extra in barricade, ridiculous fights.
 I just know one thing: at least shout, even rebel, but in the end
 Everything will go to those who are richer and higher than you...
 
 So why should we rebel and hang all the black flags?
 After all, it was decided for us at the top who we should be, how we should live...
 A pair of Dan's wings? Swallow this alms.
 I can't not write - anger and envy are rumpled inside.