Sarcophagus

Who’s sleeping? I mean, who’s sleeping well?
Who’s dreaming good thoughts just to wake in a corpse’s shell
Our sarcophagus
Our impossibly preposterous apocalypse
Perpetrated by fossilized false promises and false prophets
And who profits?
Not the dead man
Here in Hell

But this is Heaven, right Republican? This is America, land of sin
We wouldn’t dare shoot a man just for the color of his skin
Obviously he had it comin’
(At least that’s what we’re thinking…)

Shh, don’t tell.

Don’t ask either, for the questions holds more power in the ether
Where they can percolate,
postulate,
be answered and then articulated
But in our heads they stay jaded
Rotted on our tongues, they’re faded.
And so that sick silence prevails

Because dead men tell no tales.

One nation under God for the old white man
With one finger always pointing and a Koch in the other hand
Or dare I say fist?
That’s why they’re doing this, to pummel with power
But we resist, we rise up and climb for weeks and hours
Only to reach the top and find the fool’s gold at the precipice
Was it worth it?
I’m feeling worthless
Choked and died on the landslide of wealth that keeps us sleepless
The dead are speechless

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