Panacea

Panacea

Could they do a worse job?

They do every day.

Could you keep your job

if you did it like they?

They take from us, do a

bad job, they take, we don't pay,

they take.

They create law for us to abide.

They are our employees,

but they hold all the keys.

We sit and grow fat,

watch cancer bloom in friends,

see high definition cures,

while side effects kill.

They promise change,

it comes every four years,

wearing a different tie,

the soap box shines brighter.

Hope, bottled on high,

prosperity just around the corner,

but the rabbit is fixed to the rail,

and the race is rigged before it begins.

The losers vote for change,

and keep the grindstones close to their nose.

We never give up,

we have so much to give,

they hold all the cards,

but we have all the guns.

They commit crimes in tall places,

and arrest us down below,

bastards above the law

but we have eyes too.

They tell lies,

we accuse affiliations,

elephants and donkeys,

send us to fits,

while they loot,

and send children to battle.

Tell me.

When will the jailers hold the keys?

Revolution steeps as the rats begin to squirm,

human spirit is too massive to control,

the chug of change will be crushing.

gjh 09