A looking glass
In place.
Time and space, embroidered garments inlaid.
Now, you know me
Might I know you?
That's just a blade of grass,
That's just a tree.
That's just a mushroom,
That's just a dream.
That's just a golden calf,
That's just a spoon.
That's just a sort of fence
And once this was true:
"Trudge in the moonlight,
Fight in the trees.
Know thyself and the route will be seen.
Know this for certain:
If we fight we'll be free!
In death then for certain,
For we fight until then
Or until victory.
In decline, the perfect time
To strike. Henceforth tonight,
Trudge in the moonlight,
Fight in the trees.
Know this for certain:
There is no defeat.
It is too often the story that
You win some, you lose,
I say, I know what is true
But since then we've
Lost all hope, all that are left now stand
As free men,
A martyrs last stand.
Burning glory,
Southern star,
A worker's friends."
An innocence depicted
In dime-store stories.
A vein pumped under it
Of slaves and of payment,
Prerogative, tradition and men.
I was born a black man, I was born a slave.
I was born a white man, I was free they say.
The creation of this country
Was cast underhanded.
Progress manifesto: wealth is demanded.
Enslavement contradiction:
Freedom, democracy.
The contrite face of the city,
Is this peace, prosperity?
Property and liberty,
Profession of thieves.
