Gran runs to break the ballots
Those old weathered hands
Are the answer to why
Youth never had a chance
Lined up in a row, walking stick in tow
The tide of lies that they believed
Turned a vote to a stampede

With age comes weary wisdom
With age comes deathly fear  
You’re cold, scared and vulnerable
Your once distant future is now here
Your time has been and gone
Don’t hold the next generations back
With outdated bigotry and hatred
You’re white blood cells on the attack

I’ve lost track of all the times you spit the seeds out in the grass
I wonder if in time
The seed will birth a tree to feed the classists
Leaves will blossom, weeds will rot them
Fire will burn the bark to ashes
The smoke makes me sick, there’s no wood left to build my kaleidoscopic casket
So I can bury all my points of view
I can’t be ambivalent near fascists