Frost Covered Graves

A poem

Frost covered graves greet the early morning light

They are all that remain after the fortnights fight

Civilization comes to a screeching halt

All at the hands of a working man's cult

Where we are and where we've been

All constitue to a simple sin

For it was in our blindest hour

That we corrupt absolute power

And the old who leech off our tit

Cause the young to take a hit