It's all crazy, all this neo-fascist **** lately.
I guess populism's got a more catchy rhythm,
if your lazy,
then it's so much harder to love me or debate me
than hate me.
Now, let's dispose of this safely: you're racist

because either your daddy was too
or you're manipulated by falsehoods masquerading as news
but it's true, now even I'm getting confused,
but who actually wins? because you AND the immigrant lose.

This ****'s got polemic, pulled by extremist views,
taking the meanest cues,
we contravene abuse, on the daily.
It's all so ****** up lately.
I guess it's so much harder to love me than hate me.

Then, the wicked beat breaks & it all flies apart
leaving my rhyming heart to aim and find it's mark -
it's my one sight of light in the deepest dark
'n' if ya hold to me now, we just need a spark...

He slips on a dress,
looks in the mirror
to see the material clinging
to his contours
and embraces all the possibilities
that come to him.

The power is palpable
to this side no one sees -
himself - released,
exuding the best parts
of his character

Ready for an unready world.

Where's the rythmn,
The rythmn, the rhyme, the reason?
I feel it's all getting lost,
Much like the seasons.
Have we been overcome,
Punished, for some inharmonious treason?

I feel I'm cascading and fading,
Like a politicians integrity,
I mean,
**** knows just what depths we'll see,

as all the consequences show thier hands,
in scorched lands
& Floods...

Civilisations get buried in mud,
so what makes ours so special,
that we would escape the Earth's revolution?
Sit back, enjoy, The Grand Delusion

as the Earth just keeps on turning,
never learning,
burning              hot
Right from its core
              -it's experienced a lot
                       But never this before-
A species forever driven towards war,
to enslave,
to dictate
and who impose their will, by law..
Who imagine a window
just so they can slam the door.

What more        will it take?
As half the world is going to sleep,
the other wakes,
Sun, streaming through that window,
as the day breaks..

The problem is: everyone wants their poetry in axiom,
Their concepts digestible,
But, if you're asking me,
That's ******* detestable..

Living in a world of probabilistic irony,
It's the next turn of the card that will define me
And a sense of the cogs, pushing the hands of the clock,
Is what times me.
******* irony..