This world’s a snake built on politics
and the second you think you’re safe,
it will bite.

This world’s a communion of men
whose deeds you’ve forgotten, forgiven;
who calculated you’d forget, forgive;
who will bite.

Freedom is to build your own fence and cage
and to fight wars on paper over paper.
What has patience bought us
but time to kill in the hope
that one day our luck would suffice
and it would be that time that would crumble our walls,
not the spearhead of some thrall of pride?

None more vile than men who’ve learned to wipe blood
on their hands, across their face without feeling the hate,
without needing the red haze set before their eyes.

Next time you watch your Kings,
your Presidents, your Overlords…
Picture them in warpaint, in kevlar vests with blades in hand.
Picture them in camouflage and balaclavas, their mouths the mouths of sharks.
Picture them in suicide vests, with a billion bullets laid at each of their feet.
Picture them with dirt under their nails from digging a mass grave.
Picture them wearing your worried face as their common mask.