| Rough sketch
|
| Of a police state:
|
| You’re a national bird shot in the no-fly zone
|
| Ready-made regime pulled out the styrofoam
|
| Smug exec’s
|
| Hand cuffed to a briefcase:
|
| He can downsize at the push of a space bar
|
| There are interests he must safeguard
|
| Entrenched
|
| In tiffs
|
| On multi-national conglomerates
|
| I convince
|
| The underclass and complacent
|
| We’re fenced
|
| By economic pressures
|
| And bit by bit
|
| We remain the lesser-thans
|
| The foul stench
|
| Of burning dead enlisted men
|
| It cuts through press conference double-speak
|
| Doomsday issue raised by disgruntled geeks
|
| The muted shrills are collated in the fiery core of a netherworld you can’t
|
| ignore
|
| The pre-schoolers
|
| Are turned into ground troops
|
| So don’t believe all the stats that you see
|
| You’re a potential black evacuee
|
| TV bloopers resonate with an unsound truth
|
| That there is no stratified class divide
|
| And needs are met FEMA reps aptly provide
|
| The moneyed machinists are priorities over all the
|
| Hungry’s spleen fits
|
| Capital is funneled into
|
| War room debacles
|
| But if you challenge them in large forums
|
| It’s not so
|
| Decrepit salesman claims ownership over heavenly bodies
|
| With stubborn gun-slinger machismo
|
| Go home
|
| They postponed the upheaval
|
| The muted shrills are collated in the fiery core of a netherworld you can’t
|
| ignore
|
| Horn players' bellies
|
| Full of rain and soot
|
| Horn players' bellies
|
| Full of rain and soot
|
| Bloated bodies facedown in a toxic quagmire
|
| You know the sky wept into empty groves
|
| Then I become a live-threat when the levee goes
|
| Horrid neglect or a systematic backfire
|
| Yeah
|
| Yeah I’m fresh I dress in the trendy clothes
|
| But we’ve never been the price checked embryos
|
| The muted shrills are collated in the fiery core of a netherworld you can’t
|
| ignore |