THE FIRE THE CHIEFS ARE FANNING
From both sides of their mouths lies spill These consciences have stayed fallow thus it is hard to teal The darkness here is not scared of light The tiny voice inside has lost this fight Those that write right have lost their quill It is not that we are oblivious of the forbidden feast in the village square It is just that we no longer care It is not that we don't know what the roaches have to share Or that the rationing is not fair We are the onlookers waiting for when the fires will flair There is a ghost with a whip Actions are dear but words are cheap We juggle issues and nurse frivolties Who cares since there are no ties to the casualties Administer this corpse a bag of drip This head has been severed from its body The grave will always win, no need to lobby Let the body go where it please You will be surprise how the mountain will go into a keg with ease Look closely greed is now a hobby Without will power will make you a slave Thus let every man dig his own grave The chiefs...