The poets of old;
the soothsayers, not forgotten, but dusty.

Warriors with pens, to be acclaimed, worshipped.
Warriors with swords, to be spit on, othered.
Supposedly, a distinction, an acceptable outlet;
tell me: did you eat last night? Yes? Yet you are quick to dismiss those who seek to gain food by force.
tell me: is your father in prison for selling dope? No? Yet you are quick to dismiss those who throw bricks.

I fail to make a distinction between Mao's Little Red Book and Mao's ******* Gallows. Only so far as one should come with a warning, yet which one?

Does Bob Dylan know? Has the hard rain fallin? Or is it yet to drench us?
Does Leonard Cohen know?
We are quick to celebrate the white man who starves by choice,
We are reluctant to support the black militant who demands justice.

Ask yourself, is Ghadaffi a hero?
Did he not make great leaps forward for his people?
Yet, is the blood of a few leaches to much of a price?
Tell me, do you hug the cancer away or do you cut it out?
Do you ask your oppressor to please make a concession?
Or do you forcefully take what is yours?

Liberalism seems to be the prevailing ideology of the elite.
Who is preaching non violence? The oppressed or the oppressor?