You may record me in your over-edited, excerpts.
What men claim as their story.
Salty, bitter history, versus jaystory.
Throw my revolution in the sand.
But still, like the dust on your mantle,
I am lifted.
Even deceased I can stand.

Does my challenge anger you?
Are you overwhelmed with a match?
My words can open cans of worms
Your little politician promising can't patch
Up, or be swept under that with a broom
I will haunt you with my revolutions
Like I'm zeus in his own living room.

Like the endless universe to our moon.
To the fall of capitalism soon
To the 24 frames a second on networks of cartoons
Or those stuck in the trip of two caps of a shroom
Stay in tune
Like your high school's marching band
However I have to
I'll find ways to stand

I know someone would rather see me broken, crippled, legless, without feet.
A head hung low and eyes even lower so
Shoulders challenging one one another to how much closer to the ground one can go.

Does my attitude offend you?
Don't take my strength too too hard
I'll laugh like I've got El Dorado
Underneath my back yard.

You may shoot me with your thoughts
Your words, throwing heat from steamed pots
But me with your eyes, thinking it may do a lot
You may **** me with your hateful energy, maybe you can
But whatever state the world leaves me in
I will continue to stand.

Does my appeal make you angry?
It frequently comes as a surprise
I dance as if 50 carat diamonds lie between my two thighs

My history might have shame, lost in brutal command
But that's then, this is now, so regardless I stand
I'm an endless waterfall, unmeasurable in feet
The fact I can't hear myself is also funny to me.
Since water is a sound that my ears cannot reach.
But at least by my wonder to some I can teach.
That there is nothing you cannot withstand.
So with my my revolutionaries
Together. We stand.
I stand. To dawn and then back.
I stand. Regardless of your wrath.
I stand. I am the dream, and in hopes, the hope of the change.
I stand and I'll stand.
Till a new story's engraved.
I stand.
To when history is just a story.
Not belonging to a man.

vi.**.xii