The Waking Death
Churches stocks start rising hopes at an all time high.
Water levels sizing the levy like, “Why so low my guy?”.
A diesel chevy delivering Kuwait a piece of American pie.
Destiny teasing fate with the tik’n tok of time.
I stand by,
watching it wither and unfold like the tide.
Plastic in sand seemingly sickled with cyanide.
Caustic molds of democracy in the mushroom in the sky,
as F-18s full of freedoom fly on by.
I stand by.
Self-righteous with a cure for symptoms.
If the price is right on on the victim, I’ll give you a taste of the system.
Then rent it to your demons and claim I never got wit em’.
Whip it up in the kitchen. Whip em’ down the streets. Whip em’ behind the counter. Provide summer the heat. Provide caskets the bodies and get the kids to press repeat. Make it catchy. Create a dance.
And put it all to a beat,
with some base for your face. Knock that drop your teeth.
Call the police.
I never want to see my son again. I hope he run up in school with a gun on em’ and erase everybody ‘cuz of they skin.
Prayin’ to dead guys and spread lies for the win.
A dropbox campaign so you can join on in Hotbox the ballot you voting in, so neo-nazis can make this country great again.
According to whom, who condones sin?
Is it something within’, or the law you believin’ in?
If it’s the latter, you never seen the blood splatter of your closest of kin, by some guy on a 9 to 5 trying to stay alive that claims he’s neither foe nor friend.
Let the revolution begin,
with 3-D printed guns aimed at pigs in a pen
or ink in a penitentiary.
Time to rewrite his story in the eyes of a worker bee who burned down his colony just to see what it’s like to truly be free.
It’s kinda hard to see, but the roots of a tree give the foundation of a leaf that shades the seed.
Still I believe.
I’m tired of waking up just to see us still asleep.
