speak,
my loves,
of your fury and disappointment.
chant,
my sweets,
a relatable rhetoric that touches deep.
sing,
dear warriors,
a tune that cries for safety
of the oppressed
of us
of the world around us.
fight,
in companionship.
as one.
for there is strength in numbers.
for there is power in truth.

The streets are filled with violence,
your room of cheap perfume,
let's sleep this off together
and wait till the madness is through.

Another year is over,
another chance has passed,
another cartoon president,
how long will this madness last?

Because every dream of the future
is a ******* nightmare now and
the second Berlin Wall will fall
before it even stands.

So hold me close now
and we'll let this moment stay,
we'll hold onto the finer things
that they can't take away.

I don't know which way to turn,
I know the left isn't always right,
but this life is a **** sight easier
if your skin is pure and white.

Now the police are the criminals,
spilling lies, they speak in tongues,
we'll happily drink down their poison
so long as we all own a gun.

So hold me close now
and we'll let this moment stay,
we'll hold onto the finer things
that they can't take away.

Another year is over,
another chance has passed.
This empire is built on shifting sands
and nothing is built to last.

Another cartoon president,
at least he'll take our country back.

Another cartoon president,
red, white and blue
unless your skin is black.

The election is upping the antes
for a White House surrounded by shanties.
May we brace for a fall
when the winner takes all.
(Let the other side **** in their *******.)

Military hats; have set up a road block,
Military hats; have all the traffic stopped,
Military hats; are searching a freight train,
Military hats are frantic about something?

When I see military hats acting like these do...
I tend to get real antsy ‘cause I’m stopped and want to move.
And when those military hats started running across the field,
I cranked my car and stomped the gas and left that line of steel.
Where I left, those military hats, -are lying on the ground,

Military hats; are lying, -where the bodies were found.

It doesn't matter to a bird
If it has one broken wing
Or two
It still can't fly
Either way,
Whether it's
a broken left-wing
Or, a broken right-wing
It still can't fly.
It doesn't matter to a bird
If there is a migration
On the horizon
It still can't fly
It doesn't matter to a bird
Whether it's a broken
Left wing
Or a broken
Right wing
The bird
will surely,
die.

I take a glimpse,
at the future of the States,
Trump will destroy them.

I see Donald Trump,
Suddenly very proud to be
In my Canada.

I had a dream...

that Donald Trump was dead
and he had a Coffin with the union flag
and his face on it.

It was a dream but I actually thought it was real.

Pillow-fluff pads of sweet-rolling grayed,
Teddy Bears fly and diamonds parade,
Money for the wicked all pompous and pump...
And Buffet's and Gates and Romney's and Trump,
Soon there was nothing, left for a life,
Of morals, hard-work, honor; families in strife.
Great Purple Harlot on fire from distance,
And laughter and singing at Devil's insistence.
When it was done, the Elite made a pact,

* “All Hail to Lucifer! Upon his will shall we act!”

Dear Mr. Sunshine,
“When will dad be home to sing me a lullaby again?”
Those words
are stapled to the back of my head every waking day by our daughter
whose pouty lips tremble as she kisses your picture
then slowly looks up at me,
“soon.”
What else am I to say
when I ask myself the same **** question
every day, every night
and every year.
Then the sirens sing,
and we hide under a small table
as a group of men search for explosives,
gunshots echo through the shack and numb my ears
a small girl from across the room coughs up tomato soup
and is instantly tossed out onto the cold streets
of the October blue

Dear Mr. Sunshine,
It is now the end of December
and instead of snow wrapped around our little town like a blanket
there is chilled blue flames
that leave children screaming
screaming at the fire for taking their family.

Dear Mr. Sunshine,
It has been months since you wrote back
and years since I have seen you.
Now it’s March and sky is flooded with silver waste
and as I looked up from my balcony
the door began to ring,
I ran to the door
and saw your bright blue face,
with your soft pale eyes
but your soul wasn’t you
your mind had been replaced by the war.
And as I opened my ears to speak
I saw the knife in your hands and as you whispered
“I love you”
the light that was you
went through the sharp jagged edges
and sank into my heart,
sunshine took over my lungs
and darkness sunk behind my eyes
Dear Mr. Sunshine,
where are you?