Does it seem strange to you?
The confetti, the balloons, the mile-wide grins?
The victory dance to welcome in the heir
To a state of disrepair?
Cause it sure seems strange to me
They’re acting like they won the lottery
But shouldn’t they feel terror at the task that lies ahead?
Of feeding, housing people the system’s left for dead?
Could I have hit the nail much harder on the head?
It’s profits before lives; they are motivated by greed:
First they taught us to depend
On their nation-states to mend
Our tired minds, our broken bones, our failing limbs,
And now they’ve sold off all the splints and contracted out
And if we jump through hoops, then we might just survive.
Is this what we deserve?
To scrub the palace floors?
To fight amongst ourselves?
As we scramble for the crumbs they spit out
Frothing at the mouth about the
Scapegoats that they’ve chosen for us
With every racist pointing finger
I hear the goose-steps getting closer
They no longer represent us.
Is it not our obligation to confront this tyranny?