Is our elimination systematic? and who’s got the spine?
Our friends’ ends are tragic, yet police blot on fines,
Whilst youth ache for magic, reality floats on blurred lines
Where are our leaders? those who took oath by the Book,
Who ignore the seeders, and germinate like crooks
Forget we’re also weeders, who’ll cut them down by hooks
We remember their broken promises, of a bridge after flood,
Compensation after demises, and justice after flow of blood,
Of functional drainages, and emergency care for the scarred
We may whisper from shadows, but sooner, odds favor the bold,
In hushed odes for our fellows, it’s clear, the morrow is ours to mold,
For We, there’s no time to wallow, the future is drunk in the cold.
