The Roar of November
Don't weep-she's a tough old broad.
She's been through all of this before.
The riots-plagues, socialist and communist rot.
9-11 and two ugly world wars.
Corruption and jack-assed coup attempts.
Hyenas bent on destruction and mayhem.
She's stumbling about now, bashed-bruised and battered.
by malcontents and anarchists.
Stung by thugs and the pyrite of socialists.
She's steadily regaining her balance.
Dusting off robes from (cop)webs of injustice.
There are still rats and bats and fat feral cats.
In her attic crown that has to be put down.
Now she's loading up the blowtorch.
With God's blood and the grace of old glory.
To scorch the abusers and bashers.
The blight that creeps about in the night.
Don't weep for the lady, she's a tough old broad.
She'll be shining again when the people have awoken.
When they're casting their votes into the roar of November.
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