heart down to the black beat earth
swollen with the lyricism of the season
pounding blood through the fading veins of militant games
power and guns and the will to kill
for oil or sex or some such swill
I drive a car over your grave every day
and she is whoring for a new blood diamond broach
or an orphan slave crafted handbag by Coach
Bombs to kill tanks and a free air space
oil and money this death is my honey
Libya, Egypt, Saudi, or Bahrain
freedom is second class to Islam and gas
those cats in muslin will be wrapped in it
buried as they are beneath the mullahs and the moolah
theocracy and technocracy what democracy
can they hope for under them thumbs
thugs and clubs and rubber bullets and Americans
I wish we still had a democracy
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