|
Looking in from the outside, |
|
Each city pukes its wounded forth, |
|
A world that time forgot, |
|
Along 95 from south to north, |
|
From gray to greener lands, |
|
To exburb, suburb, in-between, |
|
Some choke and some breathe, |
|
A fact of life in this plutocracy, |
|
As the best of the worst plan our lives, |
|
A mass murder of the spirit cuts the vine bearing wisdom's fruit, |
|
Brother, wave your trust in faith goodbye, |
|
When it's man against man, the culture consecrates the code of spite, |
|
So this is the ideal system - |
|
Millions shunned in urban tombs, |
|
Easy for the rich to suffer, |
|
As they smile, wave, and lock their doors, |
|
Driving away from the failures, |
|
So trivial and so normalized, |
|
Back to their pristine pastures, |
|
To forward and secure their perfect lives, |
|
This nation blood-bound with its ties, |
|
Gives not a **** for its children or the toils of their wasted labor, |
|
Flood pouring gates open wide, |
|
Upon this fiction of a state, and the excess it expels and justifies, |
|
Ghosts in concrete veils, haunt Katrina's winds, |
|
Gasp, as charcoal air, fills lungs as black as tar |
|
And they drown... |