After all the spin is done
And news is fully crumpled
A simmering will linger on
On lonely stoves
Where kinship brews
In kitchens often humble

Those who engineered our fate
Half blind to all but power
A swelling symphony of hate
What deafness fears
The masses hear
Once sweet now sounding sour

And in their places standing
Stones or setting suns, old Gods
Not silent to those listening
When shadows long
Our rights, their wrongs
Should never be at odds