The Land of the Free and the Home of the Slave

In this darkened forest we walk about,
With crouching shadows and peaks of doubt,
Some plug their ears, some scream, some shout,
Some hide their eyes, some pull them out,

This pit fall maze, disguised by dim light,
These foliate faces, leer down from the night,
And we keep on walking, all despite,
Our obscured vision, our blinded sight.

Do we hold hands or do we fight?

Please write on here, just what you think,
And please, use your blood instead of ink,
And please, sign here on the dotted line,
Just lay still, all will be fine…

Are your ears still plugged? your eyes still closed?
You’ve no need for that, and surely not those,
Just follow blindly, with your heart exposed,
Just follow blindly, while the world explodes.

If something stinks, you chop off your nose.

There you go, headless and pure,
You can’t afford your SUV, or that furniture,
Your lawns are green, that fountain is new,
Your hips and lips, and tits are too!

Your home isn’t free; your land is not brave.
And to the man, are you one proud slave?
Are you swallowing hard, and spitting on graves?
Allowing others to spit, on this flag that you wave?

copyright2008