Backsplashes of humanity
Claim our paths;
We dictate the channel
But they: the message.
We drive their inventions forth,
Their shovels we work
Their dynamite blows up
What we never knew we didn’t want
And our earth
Becomes circumnavigated
With their asphalt
That inevitably cracks
Exposing all truths
That we’ve all chosen
To drive over.
But where does motivation arise?
How do we drag out
Our revolution machines
To fight each sublimality?
We wake at the crack of dawn
And march.
Should you sleep in,
Ahould you wish for warmer weather
Or a less hostile arousal,
Should you demand more luxury
In the face of destruction,
Well, for you in your warm socks
And pillowed existence
For you
The revolution shall end your pain.