this
|
is a call
|
to notice that
|
which has gone unnoticed
|
that all of us
|
are walking wounded
|
bearing hidden scars
|
and subtle bruises
|
the casualties of a war
|
inside our hearts
|
|
we submit ourselves
|
to abstract forces
|
ruled by the concept
|
that living is surviving
|
|
we are suffocating on
|
our own tangled aspirations
|
|
mired down
|
|
by the restraints
|
forced on us
|
the fear and doubt
|
that serves to crush
|
|
we can no longer take satisfaction
|
in our suffering
|
|
now is the time to arm ourselves
|
with the knowledge
|
that we can achieve
|
a state of independance
|
one of personal anarchy
|
|
we can end this war
|
|
see past the darkened veil
|
pulled over our eyes
|
we will make the world at large
|
recognize our cries
|
|
i will dedicate myself
|
to reclaiming the disputed
|
landscape of my soul
|
|
i will repel each
|
incursion visited upon my spirit
|
cast light upon
|
the insidious decay of volition
|
|
surely, i do protest
|
let this be a message
|
that here i stand
|
|
-----------------
|
So It Goes
|
If Hope Dies |