Pivot Point
We’re spinning in circles, more of the same
induced to cut loose from this coiled regime
As our heads are enveloped with this unending earworm:
the land is burning, hope is going, when can we get out?
Dining on our daily portion of despair
suicides ripple through, crippling the status quo
We hear an ever-crescendoing whisper to a roar:
the land is burning, hope is going, it’s time now to get out!
Answer what informs your constitution,
Gain it back–traverse! And disperse it even more
Respite seldom hinges on overcoming what’s to come—
when the land’s burning and hope’s going, it’s the time to get out
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