Writing
They're never with the perfume, but where the winds need change.
They're the first ones past the body that lays face down in the drains.
The words they seek come to them from the tears that fall for naught.
They don't need a crystal ball for their pictures always bought
in the teeming slums and cities, where money turns it's face
if the misery comes too close, then money finds another place.
If the crying gets too loud then the deaf will rule them all.
The only time we hear their message if it's written on the wall.
The prophets they are poor, that's why they see it all.
That's why we read it all in their writings on the wall.
Behind the fortress lives the power, controlling what life should expect.
Elected by the mercenary gun that demands complete respect.
Opponents stand up to be counted in sights of the rifle bore.
If you speak the message, then you'll be hunted for.
The prophet he knows better than to stand there in the forward.
He believes he can do better with the pen than with the sword.
So when there's blood stained victims, comes the cameras for T.V.'s.
Sometimes he'll read his message on the television screens.
Freedoms always been the dream of every man.
Sometimes his only freedom is the words he's written down.
The prophets they are poor, that's why they see it all.
That's why we read it all in their writings on the wall.
The prophets they are poor, that's why they see it all.
That's why we read it all in their writings on the wall.
Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2020
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