Scared, Strangled, Bandaged.


          Go prey while they sleep and add to their plight
          Their face scrapes and skin scars are our divine right


          Let tanks and guns wail to silence their dreaming
          Throw them over the walls no heed of their screaming          


          Loud rackets they’ll fear, into tombs we’ve laid bare
         They’re roofs all cave in to make graves we don’t care


          A scar strangled bandage for those we enslave
          With a fist made of iron we’re the nation of knave


          Keep them in darkness corral them like sheep
          Then when on their knees we’ll make them creep


          Impale them with thorns wild briars but not roses
          And rightfully bow before a door as it closes


         As it latches the beam no more daylight to gleam
         No stories reflected by our media supreme
        
          
          It’s a scar-strangled bandage ruled o’er by a knave
          In the land of the flea and the home of the slave


          There in the hand is the sword that will gore
          A house whitely dressed in a state that’s a *****


          Their love of unrest and world strife confusion
          Where a flood could not rid a red stained profusion


         Nor deluge conceal your brand native, “deprave"
         Or erase from the mirror their doom [your behave]


         You scar-strangled bandage in the land of the knave
          In the land of the flea and home of the slave.


          But for us who can never, lift up our hands
          Yet we cry for our places despite reprimands


          Or roam on our lands without hesitation
          Raise up the hour that will end our damnation


          Churn up the dust because our war is a must
          Life's not a lotto in a worlds that’s unjust


          Scar-strangled bandage we’ll burn at your grave
          In the land of the flea and home of the slave.


Ps.

Only those holding empathy
glasses have tasted the pain.