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meghan-oneillPoems
Idolisce Art is dead. Corporate Christmas. Merry capitalism. The word of the wolf is our gospel Misleading the flock towards exodus A charming smile on a mouth full of teeth Picking every last bone clean Idolisce Art is dead Uniformity and the beat the heat of war Culture of violence breeds fighters Not writers Great minds forbidden to create A masochistic parade Idolisce Art is dead Shout loud until your heard And then speak louder Tear down the walls between us and them The ******** need to hear us Taste the fire of our words And the pain we don't deserve but we feel anyway One people one voice one song Sing along With raised fists and open palms Burn the pages of capitalist psalms Sing along Until the pigs are gone
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Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
Notebook: gold
Idolisce Art is dead. Corporate Christmas. Merry capitalism. The word of the wolf is our gospel Misleading the flock towards exodus A charming smile on a mouth full of teeth Picking every last bone clean Idolisce Art is dead Uniformity and the beat the heat of war Culture of violence breeds fighters Not writers Great minds forbidden to create A masochistic parade Idolisce Art is dead Shout loud until your heard And then speak louder Tear down the walls between us and them The ******** need to hear us Taste the fire of our words And the pain we don't deserve but we feel anyway One people one voice one song Sing along With raised fists and open palms Burn the pages of capitalist psalms Sing along Until the pigs are gone
meghan-oneill
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meghan-oneill
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
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