slapping the beat
There's always steel-eyed suspicion. Especially when yer poor, automatically suspect, haven't got the fashion or manners expected. Though there's plenty of blame to go around, it gets stuck right here.
Stuff happens everywhere. Those involved get special prayers, funds raised in school fairs, helping hands clapped across their back. Unless they live across the sacred track, have papers that don't quite pass inspection.
Of course, we get what we deserve. If we live beyond the pale, whatever be our tale, it's up to us to serve in silent awe. Our cross to bear, because we're born impure. It's lovely that your source can be so sure. Insurrection
can't be condoned, nor endured. Suffer in contrition for the condition of failed dreams, unseemly scraping by. 'Tis not I who makes these rules. Thus it's ever been, will be, until we choose to honor freedom,
admit reality into negotiations for solutions, until we can agree on this experiment's conclusion. The power of fusion surpasses the power of dissolution.
No comments:
Post a Comment