Here's my open letter to the Council for the Betterment of All that is Seen and Unseen:

It's been time since I have written
For the things that we have given
Me and all my brothers and my sisters and the lovers in the street

All saving a lonely goodbye
For a time we're born to shun
But surely someday soon will come
But we will pass pleasantries, even under the gun.

Here's my open letter to the words written by feathers dipped in the ink of several generations' blood:

Throwing fits through conduits to future generations
It's a fools game to rule
In the practice of what's already done

Composing a lonely goodbye
For a time when you are gone
To any victim yet unborn

But we will tell it like it is, even under the gun.
It's taken most of what I am to understand that we are in the same boat.
Despite the things that I might say,
My will is never far away to keep going
To keep going
To keep on going, going, going, going, going, even under the gun.

Here's my open letter to the president of which whatever white-brick palace in the mud:

Spending slashing underhand
From high up not to understand
Your fellow man, who walks in line and makes the most of his time
While you're shouting a lonely goodbye

Not to let the people know that you could ever let it go
But we will tell it like it is, even under the gun
We will move right on, even under the gun.
We will dance right on, even under the gun.
We will move right on, even under the gun.