In the eye of we the peoples,
    In the overblown blasphemous
Political whirlwind,
    We have dug up Rage:
In the empty theatrical deities
     The idols explode
And spit on the origins of forefathers,
      In love with their own *****
The fountain of verbiage overflowing with
     Truncated quotations,
The people leeches become sharpened
By lies and pockets filled
By industrious rats,
     These juggling ideologies
Play the frustration of the suffering
    Like strings on a stained violin,
     Paradise of caged freedoms,
Stairway of repetitions,
   They paint Messiah over
Their foreheads,
We drink of the fountains
Of bitter water,
We crown the snakes and surprisingly
Ideally we are shocked
To be bitten.
    The fire speaks words of water
And the river ends in a fall,
     Canes and Abels,
Over and over ,
Into the storm we run,
Spinning darkness from light,
     As we drink
We must ask:

Where is the other water?