Politics in it's most obnoxious form.

Sometimes when I write, I just let my sub-conscious take over and it writes a piece for me... In a sense. So, this one is extremely political.

Blank are the words that travel your voice box,

Internal drama keeps your headshots leak locked,

Keys to the eyes of your tortured souls,

Hungry for the anything that takes it's toll.

 

Unfinished people glued to the mirrors,

Captured by the vanity of their terrors,

Bloodshot killed our mother's men,

No inquries yet as to what we intend,

To happen, to be, to be is to feel,

And feel we cannot,

Because the actions we act to appeal,

To the audience it does not.

 

Change is the word upon their hushed lips,

Carefully chosen letters through their smiles slips,

The truth behind their tongues,

Pardon the use of others guns,

It's not just me,

I'm just spitting free.