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Iron Feathers Burning
You believe in god,
Then kneel, pray,
Curse your cant your greed.
While politicians at their own kind rave
We wait on fate.
These men of iron, of tin, of straw.
Do they know us - you - me - him?
Our wants, our hopes and fears?
Born of greed, fathered by avarice
They strut like peacocks,
Their feathers dancing for the richest wind.
Curse your cant their greed.
They can't know our needs
To eat, live, sleep, love.
To know tomorrow will be here,
Not just a burning hell, where evil rains
Wash death into a dead ocean
On a hatefilled world,
Where even hate has died.
'No one who wants to hear good of themselves should make a career of
politics' - if that isn't a quote from someone famous, whose name escapes
me, it should be!
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