Subconsciously it bathes in me,
ensuring the mood is entirely subdued.
Melancholy aches of gross injustice
from which the world has failed to notice
the anguish which is held by those who care.
We are few and were supressed but
among us life is shared; with a whisper, and a snigger
and the tension of a trigger.
Villains are portrayed in derogatory ways,
but true passion is in action, thus forcing needed change.
It’s as difficult as easy and it’s subtle yet it’s sleazy.
However don’t cry for us, our fears only drive us.
Speak of the unspeakable, defy those dare
to challenge you by telling you, you shouldn’t care.
Revolution is the last taboo, and down inside you feel it too.
Anarchy is first degree, so let’s destroy hierarchy.
I’m not telling you to write stuff down
or complain to all your friends,
I’m saying we should blow stuff up:
Destroy things that are bent.
Take out your gun and point it at the next person you see,
Cause once you’ve killed the first one, the next few are easy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.