Revolution

Bred to hate

Gone too late

Got no mate

Maybe its fate

Took the bait
I didn’t hesitate
Passed the gate
Into Eighth
street

Stomp my feet
To the beat
alongside elite
people

They have followers
Call them ‘Sheeple’
“REVOLUTION!” Feeble
Dressed sharp as a needle
why should you
care

Millions unaware
Let’s go to the fare
How’s my hair
Blank stare
Ignorance in the air
It isn’t fair

I don’t feel like going
Death is foreboding

Allow me to wallow in my pessimism
This lack of optimism will find much criticism

The justification could be brought upon by the imminent annihilation of the Homosapien nation
Resulting, the purification of man’s cogitation sadly tarnished by damnation