Hiding In A Politicians Closet Poem by Scarlett Charlotte

Silence is like golden apples
Sliding in the ear it crackles
Like a broken spirit

And on my tongue lies firmament
Proceeding the establishment
To save our sunken souls

Eccentric though, we call our folk
Who tend to change the way they think
Perhaps they would not bare the yoke
Democracy is oppression's brink.

Point the finger, have a care
For all we know, you point at air.
And never is there someone there.

Faces like the broken grit
That forms upon our withered soles
As we do strive to fight the bit
To all achieve society's goals.

A new house with seven rooms
Community without the tombs
To solve these things, do we solve doom?

And yes, there's always someone else
We never reach the stack



And by the time we set our score
They're always coming back.

They tell us 'Please be Different'
They make us all the same
Moulding the young and affluent
And youth becomes a game

Pick a colour pick a size
But make it look like this
All the while, feeding lies,
The socialistic cyst.

Here's a needle, here's a thread
Here's a helmet, here's some lead
Do what we say, until your dead.

The ones we love wear suits and ties
The programmers, if you will.
Adept in reading thoughts and lies
And striving for the kill.

Here's your money, here's your life.
Here's the list, just pick a wife,
Number six is causing strife.

Be the difference, be the change
Wild and weird, and new and strange
Don't become society's mange.