The Cleanse

We're in the foothills of revolution mountain sharpening swords, packing black and white powder everybody thinks they're getting the short end the middle class clinging tight to what they have the rich and powerful laughing from the high crag the poor scrambling for just a chance at the scraps religions colliding in a kaleidoscope of supremacy cherry stained hands praying for all the wrong reasons an octopus of radicals tearing at the robe of democracy Academia behind a snotty pedestal, igniting dissention everybody plucking the eagle and stealing her eggs all the while waving death banners in front of her face condemning and demanding all in one selfish breath lets get it on then, and begin this filthy cleanse.