The soulless streets
Black and red pavement
Yellow lines where they stand
Gun barrels glow in either hand
Trained sights on their brothers
Sisters watching from either sidewalk
Dividing their lives and their futures
Setting up the failure
That shadows their brothers
Freedom calls to us
From the depths of hell
Outside of human irrationality
Easily wrenched by the nameless
And we try to pass blame
One of our own the culprit
To end would mean despotism
And to be unfree again
Next up to plate
Another innocent society
Consumed with a morbid gait
Consuming sans sobriety
Cultural wasteland wake
Too much to abate
For if their luxuries you take
Find yourself next to plate
“Confession frees, but power reduces one to silence; the truth does not belong to the order of power, but shares an original affinity with freedom: traditional themes in philosophy, which a ‘political history of truth’ would have to overturn by showing that truth is not by nature free — nor error servile — but that its production is thoroughly imbued with relations of power.”
Michel Foucault, A History of Sexuality Volume 1: An Introduction, 60.
As the cold blankets the night
Fresh faces fill the arena
The old warriors impart their wisdom
So we can fly higher at dawn
A rainbow in the dark
Exists only in your mind
So you don’t have to think
Seated in chairs made of gold
Upon monuments their parents built
Ears burn at discontent’s sound
From those who dare demand better
When, from the streets the poor demand more
In tallest towers they can only look down
Tell the weak everything is alright
Tell them it’s a worthless fight to fight
And to carry on into the night
But we’ve seen this all before
They’ll be, one day, at the door
To throw them from the thousandth floor
And they’ll be content no more
Contentment, they thought,
Was enough for the poor
Mystified morning
Of shock and terror, fire and death
We hang down our heads
Blame each other and tear down freedom
Where once great men stood
Their children reduced themselves to crawl
While they walk away
The dangerous who wrought their ruin
Confiscating Mercedes
Patting down old ladies
Lying for the greater good
So their agenda is understood
All because of one day
The terrorists got their way
Gloat that their man triumphed
Peace of mind louder than reality
Who will they champion next
When there is only one left?
In a world with but one master
Everyone is his servant