Stock, barrel, trigger, sight;
I won't be a single part of this weapon.
Bread, shelter, discipline, honor;
hand extends like an olive branch
grip colder than a bullet's steel caress
even if I could die for bags of cash falling from the sky,
their only consequence would be to fill holes too vast to walk
much less shout.
Don't act modest. You flex and bear fangs at your master's call,
like some deranged show-dog, calmness cultivated from fear...
You've overstepped your bounds, cannibal.
The old beast sees a man in him,
but this monster recognizes a devil.
Give your bullshit protection to your made-up enemies. They're the ones who need it the most. You won't buy my future, even if that's what it costs to keep it from you. Society's freedom is an illusion and an absolute lie.
Ever interpret your nightmares? It's the part of your conscience that has accepted reality, trying to make the rest of your brain understand despite their emotional implications. Mine made me realize: I'd rather mop floors every night than cosily sit in one armchair on your dollar.
Regards.
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