Each morning dawns with fresh injustice
Each dusk announced by inequality
As condiments stagnate and seperate
A flavored nation loses its taste

We turn words to profane vulgarity
Shamelessly spurring conflict for revenue
Rust scraped from our forefather’s faces
And minted, as our brittle currency

A society of discontent traps itself
Stockholmed by obsolete regulation
We allegedly find comfort on familiarity
Yet we can’t recognize ourselves anymore

Turning our heads to those different
In ways we know to be irrelevant
Stripped of her paint and privilage
A sickening caricature of our copper shepherdess

Here lies the ones who fought for equality
Here lies the torn dress of lady liberty
Here lies the light of truth and safety
For here lies the voice of “our” nation




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