every time we fall in love,
they call it trite,
a false fairy tale.
love is weak.
and weak ain't trending no more.
every time we speak our mind,
they tell us to shut up,
too young to have an opinion.
the youth is unreliable,
too many fresh hormones.
every time we stand up straight,
they cross us,
crucify us.
acquiescing is appropriate,
they gift certificates in frames for that.
every time we subscribe to a higher code of ethics,
they call us radical,
salivate, and spectate as we are torn asunder by lions.
love should never transcend national pride,
here it's guns, god, no homosexuals or mexicans all the time.
if i make a stand, and you make a stand,
and the dominoes begin to fall,
if i inspire a dozen, and you inspire a thousand,
the gears will grind, the tide will turn,
the lions will all be too full,
and
they surely will run out of nails,
before they've crossed every single one of us.