Cattlemen
When there's no gold to be gained. Nor oil to be sipped.
Nor lithium to be sniffed.
The parasitic class will get rather restless.
When there's a hint of peace, they cringe.
Because their pocketbook begins to thin.
They'll concoct conflict, then heavily promote it to justify it.
War makers laugh at the working class.
Use their children as cannon fodder
for the sake of a dollar.
But they'll never lead the charge.
War slithers at the speed of sin and greed.
The wicked always dream in blitz and eugenics.
As their needle screams cure but only brings misery.
While dripping sterility and death.
Their seeding clouds that weep mighty toxins
Our ranks are quickly thinning.
They think of us as their cattle
flanks to be branded and prodded
not worthy enough for living.
When the desperate reach for peace and tranquility.
The parasitic class chops their hands with orchestrated cleave.
When the poor climb for the summit of dreams.
The profiteers manufacture landslides and broil.
A division in the liberty bell, a concocted hell.
An enraged population is their iron seed.
Our fear and division are their twin shields.
Finally, our silence is fruit in their fetid basket.
Wars will always commence...
Because ego and greed crave the taste of our death.
Love and unity will be sabotaged by the parasitic class.
They proudly wear our mayhem and fear like a pelt.
They've traded in Christ and the blood of children
to bloat the dowry of hellhounds and devils.
From the fear and blood of our children,
they wish to glean eternal life ..
But their arrogance breeds only ignorance....
Blight in the dead end of an endless night.
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