Tayo ang makabagong henerasyon!
Tama na at bumangon na pagkat
Natutulog ang Diyos at wala Siyang ginagawa.
At hindi ako naniniwalang
May pag-asa pa ang bayang Pilipinas.
Para sa akin,
Bilang isang disipolo,
Bilang isang Pilipino,
At bilang isang anak ng Diyos,
Hindi na tayo makauusad pa.
Hindi na tayo makababangon pa
Ipagsigawan natin sa lahat na
Isang kahangalan ang
Paglingkuran ang ating Panginoon.
Tumayo para sa bayan,
Ipaglaban ang pamilya,
Mahalin at pahalagahan ang sarili't kapwa,
Mas piliin nating
Umasa sa iba at hayaan ang araw lumubog nang wala tayong ginagawa
Magbago ng pananaw at magbagong buhay
Kumilos at tayuan ang pananampalataya
Pagkat ang dapat at tama nating gawin ay
Lunurin ang sarili sa hapding dulot ng mundo.
Talikuran na natin ang kapwa Pilipino,
Ayos lang na itapon ang bawat pangarap,
Hanggang dito na lang tayo,
At mali na sabihin at paniwalaang,
Makababangon pa tayo bilang isang lahing may iisang mithiin.
Na makakaya pa nating tumayong muli.
Pagkat ito ang katotohanan,
Wala nang pag-asa ang bayang ito.
Wag na natin linlangin ang ating mga sarili na
Magkakaroon pa rin ng malaking pagbabago.
Kung lahat tayo'y makikibahagi sa pagsulong,
Hindi natin maitatangging
Wala na tayong maiaambag pa.
Wala na tayong magagawa pa at
Hangal lang ang magsasabing
Buhay ang ating Diyos,
Tayo ay ipinag-isang bansa.
Here, in Oz, the rats want to sink the ship,
The embrace of Putin is becoming hip,
It riles the heartland of the Oz,
Not the peaceful land it was,
Why a nation divided, not the best,
We're all one Oz, the rich and the rest.......
A simple gleam in the sky
Doesn’t seem to be enough light;
Especially when the darkness overcomes
This world of quickly fading love.
Why is it that they provide hellfire
Instead of holy water?
Do you believe for a second
That anything will quench the thirst
Of Satan’s sons and daughters?
A light in the blazing sky,
But it seems that the still wind
Never whispers goodbye.
Rolling tide and a blood-soaked sea,
We’re only left to reminisce
Of what used to be.
Splints are beginning to break,
wounds are seeping through the bandage,
sores have become infected,
scabs picked and pulsating--
Aspirin won't take away the throbbing pain,
nor will morphine numb the brain--
the leg below the bloody turniquet
Maggots inching closer,
flies eagerly buzzing overhead,
divebombing into ruptured flesh
oozing blood and pus--
the body bag lingers menacingly
sporting its gaping maw,
hungry for mangled flesh
and broken bones.
Bloodshot eyes pleading,
crooked mouth on a broken jaw begging,
a sick contortion of a once beautiful body
whores forlornly on busy streets--
writhing in the weak mortal vessel that damns them.
How long has it been lying there?
Trying hopelessly to stand stumbling like an old dog
in its final moments of consciousness
before the impending ejection--
how many have passed it by
with a blind salute
and a knowing fake smile?
How long must this poor soul drudge through time
slowly draining its insides
and flesh feasted by the flies,
dragged along by marionette strings--
when will we see this creature,
in need of its good samaritan--
when will we stop the transient fix,
peel off the blood-soaked bandages,
and ultimately stare into the fissures
for a final, effective prognosis?
Look this bastard in the eye,
peruse its peeling sallow skin
hanging loose off cadaverous limbs--
gasping cries rendered soft moans,
lying in a cesspool of bodily fluids--
piss and shit and blood and pus
drowning within itself--
trace your fingers along the scars and wounds,
inhale the stink of death,
accept your incapacity to understand the weight of its history--
a great anguish heralded by generations afore.
Do not, then,
think it wise to abandon the poor wretch,
as your forefathers had done--
The Poison lies within you.
To heal, then--
is not a matter of medicine,
is not a matter of science,
is not a matter of faith--
it is a matter of action.
It is sick.
It is dying.
And it will take us all with it.
Would you die for its sins?
I hope that the world
comes to see my mind
and hope for them
to pray for my life.
Because they are never going to offer
me their hand
I'm over here in a distant land.
Suffering off poverty--
a place named 3rd world country
and none of them understand
that I smile while I bathe
standing on the riverside sand.
It's my peaceful cleansing
before returning to my shackles
the fear of living in this territory.
I used to have my neighbors
but now I have craters
and collapsed buildings
to keep me company.
Standing in the remnants
of a door frame
is the last place I ever saw my family.
Some of us chose to drown
swimming across the Aegean sea--
some of us chose to stay
so our children
could have a place on a raft about to keel,
but none of us chose to suffer
and feel like the entire world had turned against us.
I hate living in a society where the chaos is so cryptic and over looked by a overflow of major events and mass material. The chaotic tendencies of our nation is so systematic and crafted that most of us are able to feel unaffected. I much rather everything be ruthless and blatant so we can be aware that we're going through the stages of ruination.
On open Judean wounds
Bound by a Samaritan's hands
Never felt so good,
A salve to the national shame
Burning through the traveler's head.
It’s a place
It’s a paradise
It’s a natures
All cities with a pride…..
Sceneries are green
We are like eagles ~that fly…..
This is a piece of song that I just created hours ago, it is a tool I think to help and support the President even in the absence of some US-Counterpart presence.
“ONE NATION, ONE IDENTITY”
TO GOD BE ALL THE GLORY!