People, get ready
It’s all too much.
How can members of the media face themselves? Or for that matter, any citizen who has aligned with Bush and GWOT (Global war on Terror) (Inc.)
If you’re making money, that’s all that matters, I guess. Us and them, us and them, us and them. We’re winning; losers suck. We’re special. Smart. Modern. Glamorous. Thomas Friedman still believes it.
The terrorists use violence. So do we. But only to bring peace (cough). And freedom. Something we will grant. Ridiculous.
No one says it. It’s all too much
They can lie. Nobody seems to care. Nobody seems to notice.
Tis Rome, not I.
Still, here I am. In the belly of the beast. Can I jump free? Can you?
Prepare yourself for four more years. An orgy of violence. Only a revolution will stop this. Internal. Slaves awakening. Saying no.
Time for life off the grid. Start our own economy. Give and receive. Fair. Equitable.
In here: Home schooling. No TV. Warmth. Love. Creativity. Organic whenever we can get it.
Out there: Four more years. The rise of the machines. A horror show.
Until…refuse. Sorry. Not part of that. You have no power here. You can’t steal my fire.
Thought police can’t win. Will is stronger than guns and steel.
Where there’s no foundation, there’s no future.
But
I have bricks. I have mortar. (Tools too. Everything. They came to me. Or I found them, where they always were.)
And soul and spirit. Uncowed. Unbound.
And
Allies in blogland. And beyond.
Someday, even the soldiers will stand with the people in front of the tanks.
It’s all too much.
How can members of the media face themselves? Or for that matter, any citizen who has aligned with Bush and GWOT (Global war on Terror) (Inc.)
If you’re making money, that’s all that matters, I guess. Us and them, us and them, us and them. We’re winning; losers suck. We’re special. Smart. Modern. Glamorous. Thomas Friedman still believes it.
The terrorists use violence. So do we. But only to bring peace (cough). And freedom. Something we will grant. Ridiculous.
No one says it. It’s all too much
They can lie. Nobody seems to care. Nobody seems to notice.
Tis Rome, not I.
Still, here I am. In the belly of the beast. Can I jump free? Can you?
Prepare yourself for four more years. An orgy of violence. Only a revolution will stop this. Internal. Slaves awakening. Saying no.
Time for life off the grid. Start our own economy. Give and receive. Fair. Equitable.
In here: Home schooling. No TV. Warmth. Love. Creativity. Organic whenever we can get it.
Out there: Four more years. The rise of the machines. A horror show.
Until…refuse. Sorry. Not part of that. You have no power here. You can’t steal my fire.
Thought police can’t win. Will is stronger than guns and steel.
Where there’s no foundation, there’s no future.
But
I have bricks. I have mortar. (Tools too. Everything. They came to me. Or I found them, where they always were.)
And soul and spirit. Uncowed. Unbound.
And
Allies in blogland. And beyond.
Someday, even the soldiers will stand with the people in front of the tanks.
