The System

In shadows cast by Western might, The System whispers, a colonial blight. 1. Shatter morals, a cultural fray, where heritage falters, lost in dismay. Reduced to echoes of a proud past, souls adrift, in shadows cast. 2. Weaken currencies, neocolonial schemes, a puppet dance where exploitation teems. Devalue the coin, a silent decree, as resources bleed from land to sea. 3. Stir security's storm, a tempest untamed, colonial legacy, a history named. With every tremor, a puppetry play, strings pulled tight in the Western way. The System laughs, a cold, hollow sound, A puppeteer unseen, wearing a colonial crown. In the dance of shadows, where control is spun, A narrative of power, yet to be undone.