The eternal trench has been dug,
Each side gazes upon a day's destruction.
A battle where neither side shrugs
A battle built upon corruption.
The fight - for North Vespucci
The land that prospers from war
Each side sets skillful schemes too cheat
And they surely settle the score.
A voice, a rifle
Like bullets - piercing a party's heart
Accountants launder loot - leaving us stifled
Like the master tactician - Commanding an army smart.
Ideas recycled;
Luring unsuspecting souls in reach
Only to promise the unobtainable
Through their leader's speech.
Cowering in fear, neutrals despised,
Don't believe the mystic mirages of which they speak
Leaving us disenfranchised,
We are who they consider "weak."
For "weak" I may be,
But disenfranchised - I will not!
With a sincere soul I speak,
We must move to stop the blood clot.
For Weak I am,
But strong I will become.
Nobody gives a damn,
But my voice will be a victorious one!