By Jimmy Mowery
The Scene staff
Our house is lookin’ like the Colosseum today,
Except the fights aren’t half as fair as
history books convey.
From power struggles to bear hugs in
petrified forests,
A network born social. We were born
downloading torrents.
Danny isn’t here now, but Donnie’s got the ax.
It’s like pictures in a book, patriotism is an act.
Of violence and sex and drugs and rocks thrown at the backs
Of heads that dared to ask for something new across the tracks.
It’s a cycle in the city, yet we lose our train of thought,
Because we’re eased into believing this is all we’ve got.
It’s not.
Say there’s nothing to fear now, but fear itself?
That’s what makes the man’s malevolence a variable hell.
Cuz here now, division is livestreamed through a hubble.
Any freedom sounds wonderful, a giveaway bundle.
So with forks inside his tongue and the fish hooks on your lip,
It’s straight out of the horse’s mouth, this rodeo’s split!
Resist.
It doesn’t kill to listen,
To open up new doors, to the new floors that glisten.
There’s so much foreign glory in the stories we’re missing,
That to this day, I’m so ashamed I wasted my teens dissing.
But by the grace of gods or devils, I’m
taking a chance,
To be the change I want to see and acting in advance.
Cuz the cause to our sarcophagus is more than arms crossed.
It’s the bottom tiers of pyramids, but our love isn’t lost.
It’s not.