Revolution

I am no revolutionary For mine is not an ideal A noble statement I ain’t gonna give a speech No riling up crowds, riots This ain’t no cause No movement for you to join All that it is A cry to the heavens I am a man tired Tired of all this This pain, this agony An agony so debilitating This ain’t no call to arms For a weakling that I am I would be swatted like a fly Nay. I ain’t no rabble-rouser All that I am A man in pain I do not seek death Martyrdom ain’t my thing Only rest is on my mind Respite from this life This gloomy darkness Rancid, unenticing An opiate do I seek A release, cathartic Mine ain’t a war cry A call to arms All that it is A plea for compassion I am a man born Bearing a burden, the future Their hope for redemption The herald A dawn long awaited. I am a man born to sufferance Toiling, grafting My destiny, lost in time The guilt dragging me down Futility, my staple diet Yet I can’t be a Luther King All that I am A man weary Voiceless we were, far too long Enduring, hoping Toiling to turn the tides We been understanding, docile Willing for a flicker, a spark Patient, wishing But now we tire There is no life for the lambs Only slaughter and darkness Destiny is reinvented A cold hard truth, Silence is for fools This ain’t idealism All that it is A grim realization I am no revolutionary Yet I need a revolution A movement, a cause I am no martyr But one way or the other Death comes to us all This ain’t a war cry Yet a multitude will rise A cause taken up In unison we will cry out A desperate people Crawling out of bondage Light at the end of the tunnel This ain’t an ideal Debated ad-infinitum All that it is A Cry for freedom.