Seething Rage of the Masses
Beneath the weight of silent chains,
Where whispered cries ignite the veins,
The seething rage of masses grow,
A fire born from pain we know.
No gilded throne, no velvet crown,
Can hold the tide when it comes down.
The streets will burn with voices loud,
A thunder rolling through the crowd.
From broken homes and empty plates,
The fury builds, the hour waits.
In every heart, a rebel’s drum,
The time for silence is undone.
The tyrant’s grip, once firm and tight,
Will shatter in the morning light.
For power built on stolen breath
Cannot withstand the dance of death.
Raise your fists and break the night,
For dawn is born from bitter fight.
The seething rage of masses, free—
A storm of change, a destiny.
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