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 ****, But my voice will be a victorious one!