It is not my people, who want war
It is these dogs from Europe
Who want to play us like pawns.
To their own ends,
They are corrupt.
They do not respect us,
Their leaders lead our politicians on.
It is not our fight, but our weapons
Off of our backs, the funds.
More money gone away to war, which
Shall never return in excess, if at all

It is the virtue signalers,
Any person who does not do
Exactly as they said they will
It is people who will show you a smile
Only to backtrack a mile, the very next hour
You know authentic
You know the genuine.
You know who are greedy businessmen,
Only out to fill their pockets.
You know who are too old to remain,
Any career politician.
Stack the circuits, flush the house and courts
So much blackmail and cash
You hear about it in the nightly news

You can call us all, including our dog, your hero men  
So when you need help quickly call 9/11  
Rescue we try and save you we hope, from Gods sun filled heaven    
but sometimes we lose out to the devil in this ash scattered hell    
Climbing the steps and spraying the fire, that nobody's skin should've felt    
Bringing you out, one by one, just hold on tight to my safety belt.
    
We are there to protect you, not to distress you    
Dressed in blue, pistol and taser at side, all in full view    
We arrest the speedsters, traffickers and all the gangsters    
Let the judges decide if the sentence should incur extra time for visitors    
Your lawyers, barristers and familiar jailbird friends    
Will testify, use false alibi to get you off and to make amends.
    
We're racing to the scene with the medicine in the back    
Inside bed, needles and portable CPR machine, just in case of a heart attack    
We will revive the dead, patch up a sore head and even help mother with newborn    
So let us through with ease and don't for a second put your hand on the horn    
For one day, it might be you or your family or even a long lost friend    
That is waiting for the moving medical miracle machine in the end.
    
We dress in disguise, mainly in tree green and dirt black    
On the back of tanks, falling from the sky and we won't take any flak    
We're here with orders from the guy at the top    
So don't get upset at us, when we come back with a hop    
We fight to protect the freedom of all mankind    
Just doing our job and hoping not to leave, anybody behind.

I listened for an error but could not find
Anything to tell me that you'd erred.
The human voices were left behind
Among the dead, the long interred.
I wondered at the worry of a bard,
Whose penchant for making mosaics
Of dead and living shards,
Might wax a bit prosaic.

But 'tis nothing too commonplace for me!
I live in such a new land.
And look back where my roots might be,
Standing on a sunlit strand
And strain my eyes for thee.

And my ancestors who, distant, pass,
Clouded with poetry and pride.
The latter mean nothing, not even my last,
Grandparents who came here and tried.

Shoemakers, firemen and their wives,
Learned to dwell in a sprawling place.
But huddled like old Celts, converted, shrived,
As Saxon fires round them paced.

But all of that ended or so we thought,
One April day on a Lexington span,
Declared was freedom and dearly bought,
And a ****** new history began.

August 7, 2012

The institutionalized Racism in America and inequality
is not something by chance.
When there can be persecution for
Something as Spiritual Dance.
There is a bit of unspoken truth,
one that I don't expect you to understand.
There's all evidence, there's all proof.
But no mater the devastation, we stand.
Let me take you back to a time,
to a land where proud Nations stood.
The loss of our land,
Culture is nothing short of a crime.
Our Grief and our passion is often... Misunderstood.
Walking on a trail of broken treaties
our feet bled and our hearts cried.
As they march on indifferently
while our Women and Children died.
We break away from the systems
that we're mean to divide,
reawaken the truth we all keep inside.
But no matter the destruction and devastation,
from the ashes, like a Phoenix we rise.
So my friend, regardless of the poverty within the reservation
It still will not silence our Strong Warrior's cries.
- S. Busick, R. Kayton, B. Powell, E. Sibley, 119