You use your money to control the game
Set the conditions for ruin and shame
Taunting my children with the ball
Teaching them nothing at all
About the indigenous made peoples
Made extinct, their noble cultures gone
And all you saved from it was a ball
And you get to be fairy godmother
And we your cinderella
Chickens roosting by your clock
Ticking me off
With your misinformations school
Prisoning
The mind of children who think they gain
Sacrificing scholarship for the vanity
Of wealth
You take back with phony lawsuits
Or the price of health
Beyond the treasures of all wealth
Is you the fixer, controller, gambler
On my game.
One day when I come to the rim again
Behold not bat, nor slinky moves
But fire cleansing the forest of memory
Fire burning the debris of history
Prisons crumbling like a post mortem to ugly
May children longing and learning
The fire's anatomy ... dissecting the game's dead physiology
The wind winging through the net of rainbows
The terrestrial ball ... free at last.
We are the children of the rim
Where white gulls over blue Atlantic sing
Interruptions that memories skim
Across the face of altered maps for wing
One feather to lift us again, high
Empire in shambles in the callous flow
Of sands. We demand without lie
A stake in this economy that you grow
On our backs shackled and coffleless
Marginalized 'fore a muted witness
It is time for restitution
It is time for moral ablution
And we, children of the rim
This is our international hymn.
So we come to this table
Fully disagreable
With the with status quo and flow
Of global garbling and slow
Melt down of our life
Across the spiring babel of all strife.
We are the children of the rim
It is your turn to meet us now
Against your propspects and dim
Sunset that cannot know
This consideration colonizes our negotiation
And is your last hope to learn redemption.
She opened the door
He opened the door
And smelled the turkey
And smelled the waste
Her heart grew warm
His blood ran cold
As they looked around.
The garlands were up
The walls were stark
In rows upon rows
The cots were in rows
The tree was all lit
Their eyes were dark
It was Christmas day.
The children were laughing
The children were silent
Hands trembling with pleasure
Bodies rocking in sorrow
Toys unwrapped and cuddled
Baby girls rejected
All made in China.
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