Friday, February 18, 2011

The Silhouette of the Spin Doctor

The lyrics had a special sort of mass appeal, reproaching castes,
Early to rise, above the truth, no consequence ever paid,
The expressed sorrow, shallower than all the pity shown,
As they sit forty stories high, above the unmarked graves
Lining scapegoats from a broken throne,

The fire would spread, throughout the fields
Over time forgotten, burning the crops,
As dignity falls, so do the barns,
Without reprieve or aid, the dirt rises, lifting ashes atop straw lining,
The dust forms with every affidavit lost,
Is this image obscene, for a voice to not be heard?
Are these words not clear, is no one scared?

The hate was mass produced,
Concocted not in playgrounds like they promote
But in the assembly lines we support,
The will of the people is not the alarm,
It’s the warning shot not issued,
Kin held back by yellow tape,
Breeding a new found rage
A delicate, synthetic hate,
One that will not quit, stewing and hunting,
Allowing justice to be served so quick, resolving, probing
A result from a corrupted politic, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth

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