Print

Chip On My Shoulder

A political opinion of the wealth of the world as distributed in the present day.
There's a chip on my shoulder,
And a noise in my ear,
A voice keeps a-whisperin',
It's playing on my fears,
I can feel the conspiracy,
It's conquering my thoughts,
I feel numbed by confusion,
In its danger, I'm fraught,
A condemned propaganda,
To which I can't conform,
It pulls me from the freedom,
To which I was born.

I cannot even whisper,
The views that I hold,
For that would condemn me,
By those in control,
Who smile for the camera,
While hiding a grudge,
For those who are like me,
Who feel the strong urge,
To witness democracy,
True freedom of speech,
And view the hypocrisy,
Of that which is preached.

It seems so draconian,
In a liberal world,
To LIE in such servitude,
To those in control,
To be held in the doctrine,
Of the lies that they preach,
Through fear of the socialite,
Who kowtows on his knees,
In a grovel of worthlessness,
Looking for favor,
And coming to terms,
In his kerb crawling manner.

The whore nurtures Babylon,
Armageddon is nigh,
There's turmoil in the oceans,
And fire in the sky,
The avarice of many,
Has forgotten the few,
The well-off propaganda,
Needs to be renewed,
All the scrimping and saving,
By industrial hands,
Is stolen by austerity,
By the rich man's command.

The socialist pride,
That once was a force,
Has sold out its dignity,
And now comforts remorse,
The painful admittance,
To the selling of value,
A soul for the Devil,
In ignorance of virtue,
There is shame among brothers,
As strength is dissolved,
The unity is shattered,
The voice is unheard.

So this chip on my shoulder,
That pains my heart so,
It can't help but wonder,
Why we let so much go?
As to why we surrendered,
So much to the state,
While we reaped no benefits,
As our own wealth was raped?
I grieve for our fathers,
Who put up a fight,
Oh, how we've let them down,
By mourning our plight!
By
Published: 2/28/2013
Bouquets and Brickbats | What Others Said