Great men have drowned in a sea of
hope and faith, not me,
I dwell beneath the bridge where
industrialization emits,
where the cars pull the plump white
pigs that we seem to mistake for people,
These big white pigs in their
white suits and their white
Minivans are gobbled up by their ego
White seems to be a popular color
here, it’s conveniently the
color of the fog that adorns
itself above the river each day,
I inhale it, I take it all in,
like ******* on a cigarette,
this cigarette of such
sadness and despair,
It burns my throat, the fog grabs
my lungs with forceful wrath
and shakes me to my absolute core
Why, must you hurt me? what must you take
from me that hasn't been taken?
all the pigs seem to be fine while I am
suffocated by this thick smog
it’s not fog, it’s the smoke
coming out of the cars, no the pig’s
chariots and the factories of this
god-forsaken town, hugged by the river
Yes, this is where I dwell, in the town ******
up the *** with the gigantic **** of capitalism,
The city, like me, struggles to avoid the suffocation of the
fumes, the smog, the smoke,
I look into this smoke and see true terror
I see this HOPE, HOPE, HOPE,
Yes, the great dictator of positivity, with it’s
letters branded on my heart from out of the womb,
HOPE jumps into my soul and FAITH holds me down
telling me that the man who just died will
go fly into the sky, to infinity and beyond,
The smoke seems to be infinite when I stare at it,
an endless cloud of cloudy thinking
that washed out reality,
Like how the moon is washed out of the sky
each morning, when I go down by the river
to wash my sorrows away
down by the trees
taken by the breeze.
