Freedom, 2000
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By Unknown. Mothers led in chains to hospital beds Deliver unseen children Strapped, shackled Wish they were dead Busted down your door Murdered in your bed Doesn’t matter who your are You were holding a candy bar Pulled families apart The children went to homes Some were beaten and raped Others filled with hate Narc on your husband or Your old Mother goes to jail You become frightened to read Your own e-mail Tell on your neighbors Do they have friends? Or maybe two cars Must be dealers Loose your land Because your grandson smoked A little green dope While planting your corn Our leaders say War on Drugs While sniffing their cocaine Filling us with The toxic filth imbedded in our brains Need some medication Grows free in your backyard Got aides or no legs Or pain we cannot see They are always ready To lock you in a cell Isolation, lack of communication They will dope you up past eternity Giving you poisons In trade for your humanity Make your children pay $258 dollars a day Everything gets owned By six or seven people You food, your job, your house And the prisons Two million prisoners Growing everyday Children over 14 Is the new thing They need more prisoners To run the machine People they don’t have to pay Who work hard all day. The sign above the camp said Work will set you free In Germany and Texas We even voted for it Some were led away to Execution chambers Even the innocent with Lots of DNA Got them all Hippies, Drugies, Gypsies, Tie-Dies, Deadheads, Rastafarians, And all that sided with them too Lawyers, Priests, Doctors, Caretakers, Middle class and Some Well to Do They will come next for you Closed their shops, kept them down, Out of town, shut web sites, Bookstores out of business, music Never came back around Justice has a dirty rag Shoved and gagged in Her mouth She cannot break this evil Without the People’s consent Until they took us away Meek as mice Shattered lives Will this dream end Or will I wonder where I am In 1960’s Russia, 1980’s Cambodia Or 1945 Germany, forever Without end No this is America 2000 Home of the Free I’m sure I will wake up One can only hope |
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Poetry |