An Angry World
I hate phony shows of misspent faith
From people rich and above the poor
Focused hate for the ones who make
Yet always seeming to want more
Helpless despair as I hear the news
Of another group saving some whales
While every day little children die
‘cause there’s no one to unload the bales
A critical eye cast to our leader
Who welcomes the criminal and cast-out
While huddled alone in a cardboard box
A young man views Christmas with doubt
Violent shakings of the unstable ground
From the bombings that rumble on
Viscous bolts of tax-payer missiles
Striking ground before the dawn
Whistling winds from the bullets above
Such violence inflicted upon the ground
These are but simple, symbolic signs to me
Of the rage I feel from all around
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