Did I ever call for

your fame?

Why do we fight in

your name?

Is it really [bad word] that

you're there?

And do you ever

answer my prayers?

We are calling for

change,

so why don't you [bad word] back again?

Why do you spread

love uneven?

This is not what I

believe in.

Do I have the right,

to write this down?

Without heresy pointing

a finger at me.

Rights?

We don't have no more.

In this catastrophe,

of a 21st century war.

Did I ever call for

your fame?

Why do we fight in

your name?

Is it really [bad word] that

you're there?

And do you ever

answer my prayers?

We are calling for

change,

so why don't you [bad word] back again?

Why do you spread

love uneven?

This is not what I

believe in.

Turn and let your gaze

burn over yonder,

a young man stern

with the hunger,

who never puts asunder,

the late night thoughts

and the wonder.

Writing is a lightening

speech is a thunder.

Kid, I'm misinterpreted

like a Marxist.

The scared will

ask this,

impartial vocabulary

martial artist

practice verbal Ti-Chi

and pilates.

Da Linguist, the proper

opportunist.

Quick to drop a new list

of rhymes which

revue this,

right wind stifling that

we're suffering,

far from enlightening it's

frightening so usher in,

a new type of verbal

well being.

As your talks are warped

by a canopy of entropy,

enter the Linguist who

eventually,

with a dismaying display

of rhyme slaying advances.

The impartial vocabulary

martial artist.

Did I ever call for

your fame?

Why do we fight in

your name?

Is it really [bad word] that

you're there?

And do you ever

answer my prayers?

We are calling for

change,

so why don't you [bad word] back again?

Why do you spread

love uneven?

This is not what I

believe in.

Did I ever call for

your fame?

Why do we fight in

your name?

Is it really [bad word] that

you're there?

And do you ever

answer my prayers?

We are calling for

change,

so why don't you [bad word] back again?

Why do you spread

love uneven?

This is not what I

believe in.