Poem #3

The staccato clang of the revolving doors
Is a stark reminder of the
Blue and white men who live on the plain
They’ve come from on high to take your wives and daughters
They’ve come in the middle of the night to take you to the slaughter
The mirror dropping to the floor
The window is shattering at the door
The roofless house across the street
Is burning away
The kids all shouting
Come out and play
The capital punishment administered by the Czar
The strength of the sheet rock will not go far
The crash on freedom street
In liberty square
The minister’s daughter just doesn’t seem to care
The president’s locked in an ovular orgy
Masturbating all over
The predecessor’s green, flattened body
The treasurer is standing on top of the stage
He's lookin' kinda deranged
His hair is grey and covered with mange
The metal fire is rusting
In the garage
The spirit dance of the cultural collage
Is stomping on the ears of an old blind banker
The kids are all shouting
It’s time for a change
The cold, black steel
In a million different hands
Pointed at the men who are standing at the greens
Come now, move your asses up out of the way
At the break of dawn, we’re taking over