Trickle-down tyranny trumps the sweet and natural hum, the wind and howl, the air and breath slain by boom, rattle and thump!
Come and sit beneath the stars and heed the whisper of all, bring your power in numbers to a fresh and vital call.
No more can we linger, no more can we remain, while they hone the sword of tyranny and plunge it through our veins!
No more can we hold our speech, no more can we wait for death to rear its head from waste surging hard beneath!
Come and sit under the stars and talk of things that matter, come camp with your brethren and bravely hold back the clatter.
The landscape, it is shifting, turning red and orange, calling on us to embrace her loving wind and begin to be the change.
If we fail her now, we’ll lower our Love to her crypt to never rise again, she’ll breathe away our memory and once more begin.
Come! Sit beneath the stars and watch the shadows glance, move with the wind as music for a loving surge and dance.
No more can we linger, no more can we remain, while they hone the sword of tyranny and plunge it through our veins!
No more can we hold our speech, no more can we wait for death to rear its head from waste surging hard beneath!
Come and sit under the stars and talk of things that matter, come camp with your brethren and bravely hold back the clatter.
© 2011 by mark prime
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