Weekend Revolution

Weekend Revolution

Feeling apathetic and angry at the state of our country and its non-existent health care

Which is like crawling through barb wire and glass just to reach a teaspoon of salve to mend the cuts it produces.

Sick of a world of inequality and injustice...sick to my stomach, so pardon me if my vomit lands on your shoes.

Look at me Mom; I'm off to save the world...

The fatigue is deep and the burden is heavy for my fellow sufferers' 

We lock arms and march together through these streets that are supposed to be our own,

Paid for by the tears and sweat from our own brows.

We’re raised to believe that we can achieve the American dream, so we venture off into a scholastic monarchy

That teaches us about injustices of the past...aka History,

But ignores the injustices of the here and now...aka, economy

So let’s just bow our heads and pray that one day a man in a three piece suit

Will come riding out of the skies on a fiery horse to save the dying planet.

Hello Mr. President, sorry for breathing too close, was I invading your comfort zone?

How about for a moment you hear my speech and I’ll teach you a thing or two about cutting.

Cut my benefits, and I’ll slash your tires, cut my services, and I’ll slash your throat.

There are children starving, so back off Mr. Swift, I got a new modest proposal...let’s eat the rich.

It’s my fault I can’t pay off these student loans, so I guess I can’t whine or bitch

It’s my fault I was hospitalized and diagnosed with the human condition, and then they say stand on your own two feet.

But how the fuck can you when you don't have any feet to stand on?

I mean who needs pills, when Glen Beck is so much better therapy

Especially when you’re a gutsy, confused twenty year old who has never suffered a day in his life

So I’ll have a scoop of some of that good old fashioned American propaganda…with sprinkles please.

But no the inner me wants to break shit and scream in the moonlit night Anarchy! Anarchy! Anarchy!

Please let me subdue my irrational tongue, didn’t mean to offend…didn’t know you were a fan of country.

Manufacture a southern accent, slap a fiddle on the track, throw a tractor in for good measure and call it art.

No fuck that, I want the true humanity, in all its puss filled glory

Give me something real, something I can feel…something I can dance to during this weekend revolution.

Brothers and sisters raise your signs high and in one earth shattering voice we cry:

We are the 99! We are the 99!

And we’re gonna occupy this land until the snow falls and frostbite rots out our pressed lips

One last thing to the head shakers and finger crossers…I’m poor, disabled, and pissed

So line up these coffins boys, and dig a ditch for the one percent.

Copyright Adam Gaile 2012