The Solution.

The fear, terror, hatred.
That sang us to sleep,
as beneath our bedroom windows,
sirens ring out on the streets.
These parodies of wars, that are knocking at our doors
or teaching us to sing a song, a lullaby,
That keeps us painfully asleep.
Wake up oh, sleeper and rise from the dead.
Could we die and be less dead?
Can our comfort and softened flesh,
once again be beaten fresh.
And our clothing, hair and nails,
be torn, burnt and broken
beneath the glory, while we take sail.
On borrowed wings, on stolen time.
beneath our refusing soliloquy.
Let our dissonance define us, and our arms in defiance crossed.
Between the gears of what we've known, let us be tossed.
Lest we forget that it created the void,
that fills our hearts with greed.
Lest we forget this machine that was built,
was built to create a perpetual need.
Our hearts are stronger,
our minds are wiser
our bodies, now beaten to strength.
What else is there to give,
what other reasons, now to live.
Than to be changed to insurrection,
to aid passion's resurrection.
Beneath a sky lit,
by satellites, cities and patriot.
But the city will shine
with fire and light,
while we dance in our chains,
in shackles, delight.
Let us be made acquainted with the cold cement,
of alleys and jail cells, and tenements.
Let our days be made battle
until the nights that we see.
The end of this stolen, controlling
grasp on humanity.
Let us give our four seasons, our life and death.
To seeing this tyranny end.
To sleep without song and light.
To see this lullaby die,
and to awaken a century's death.