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Calli Kirra Mar 2014
We coulda burned this whole city to the ground. Our heat was like a pride of tigers, and they ripped through every canvas wall and tore them to shreds. We were hot. An electric telephone wire engulfed. We coulda melted them, baby.
Axiana May 2013
Paper notes are nothing without the air that fuels their journey
From hand to hand, money to palm, no, I want that inbetween
That fair exchange, that feel good feeling.
I have faith in that ease.
But you are blind to what I see
You believe it's brought everything, this paper wrapped in thorns.
Independence, equality and within us, no judgement or scorn
I laugh even though it hurts from the lungs you've torn
Your air isn't fit to breathe anymore
From firestarters to materials, from nowhere at all to experiences
The answer lies not within the devious
So I wait
A precarious balance to one day think you can pay off fate

You hold it tight, until the moment comes.
Through snow, through sleet, sunshine and rain.
You'll have that goodie today.
And nothing can stop you but a lack of change.
When life and death is trivial, you can hear the quarters coming
You're full to the brim with it
But it's nothing.
An overflow of twinkling coins and shiny bills
It's the journey, the reward, that brings those thrills.

I want to remove the middle man, the mad man, the money mind-set banned
And instantly connect those two generous hands
Together we'll make it happen, let's start with a global call
Inexpensive and cheap, abundance and freedom is solved
Monsanto the monster hiding beneath our countries bed
The internet our new best friend
It is our turn now, to bring this to an end
Poverty and addiction is a just a bad dream, wake up!
It's never too late to have had enough
Pedro Batista Aug 2017
The red sun shines high
The grey clouds hide the blue sky
As the heatwave rides the winds
And the common man sweats with the heat

The fighters run in a rush
homeless or home savers
asking for a divine favor
sweating with fear and a day of labor

The culprits sneak in the woods
with the firestarters under their hoods
dreaming of the money they took
sweating with the guilt of a crook

different sweats, with different flavors
they reflect the lives of different morals
and even belonging to dead men memorials
The view from the afternoon , on a country that is burning

— The End —