The Rich Man's World

The whispers of the tired, wafts in the cold breeze of September
In the violence of the twin towers crashing home below
As the dust bowl of 2001 spreads across the sky line of the rich
And the white workers with blackened faces dig out the rubble

Somewhere in a secret prison beats the heart of a man
Considered an enemy of civilization that championed the waterboard
He lies accountable for the rich man's folly, a system of rot
As the steel boot of capital breaks open his jaw

In the oval offices of Washington DC, there speaks the learned
Those who make the laws and methods that subject the working class
To the glorious dignities of labor - if they are so chosen
As the owners of society relax in the sunny beaches of conquered natives

A little Palestinian girl is shot straying into the fire zone
Seventeen times and pronounced dead, murderers acquitted of all charges
Combat troops withdraw from Iraq, nothing changes in policies on ground
Drones bleed the life out of poverty in Afghanistan

In the streets of America, in the metro bus, in the trains and store-fronts
People wait, muted, talking shop, talking rubbish to pass the time
While in the background sounds menacingly - the "steel of our ship"
The boots of the armed fascists with machetes and kalashnikovs

A young man, fresh out of college scans the "jobs" section of the paper
That tabloid of dis-information that he still has to consult
To find his value - if it exists - as measured in the market of sweat
Or blood, as he finds in the full page ad to "Join The Army"