The murderous men who have forsaken their wombs
They speak in fork-tongued shades that inflict wounds
How the world is losing, losing itself in repeated stages
Everybody is a butterfly, drying up between pages
You take the road down and you can’t voluntarily turn around
If you believe in yourself, you are bound to get a frown
They are after your free will like a pack of hungry hounds
Anyone with the gumption, may be unfairly labeled unsound
If you call democracy freedom, you are mistaken by the choice
The ones who wish to lead you, are a bunch of nasty boys
You are silent-sheepish as a cog, you’ve lost your voice
It is propaganda’s huge wheel that is making all the noise
The withered old woman is sadly reminiscing all her tales
of spirit, nature, generosity, and virtue larger than whales
O Alas! The woman has broken down suddenly on the rails!
And the wicked men are beginning to gleefully burn her entrails
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