How is it that these days
The guilty ones come off so clean
A demon is godly and praised
By the poor and the meek
We plot and we dream and lose sleep
Over the vulgar and ugly
But they’re immune to it all
They don’t falter or fall
It’s ungodly
Never tell them enough
Make as if your mouth’s shut
We’re the wolves, they’re the sheep
Just pretend that you’re weak
An imitation of silence
We’ll pretend that we’re tired and beaten
Just cry and play possum
Rock them to slumber like children, then
Strike
And they won’t know what hit them
A license to hate and to kill and to rape
And a birthright to privilege and easy
Escape
With intimations of violence
Despotic old criminals
Eager to rule us to pieces
The trumps and the bushes
The reagans
The right-winged fascists
The bigots and racists that shit where we eat
We’ll just keep a safe distance
Rope-a-dope them to sleep
In imitation of silence