I pick up the littered pages
of all the pains I’ve felt.
I try to insert them into a book of remembrance.
But God ordered the incinerator to stand by
with the hopes of a change of heart.
Sadly, my heart was given to the government.
In return, they gave me eight years of smokescreens.
Found the truth lying in the mouth of hell.
Speak when spoken to, or lose the ability to moan for salvation.
The stories they feed us taste of lies.
There’s no plague they’re fighting,
just the fear of losing a drop from the sea of wealth they’ve contained.
Now, they return amidst the plague,
hoping to conquer yet again.