I am not a dead man,
At least, I'm not quite yet;
My heart pumps loud,
My feelings proud,
And there's feelings I must vent.
Living life in silence,
While screaming every word,
In many ways my life takes both,
To contradict the world.
Rebels in the underbrush,
Conformists on the streets;
I'm sorry to disturb your norm,
But the rebels are elites;
Conforming kills the mindless soul,
To fight off human urge;
Your deities have said nothing,
Your logic, left to purge:
The voiceless and the insecure,
They don't need you to live.
When they look to you they see,
Someone they can ask to give;
To pass to them, all fruitless foods,
And currency, thanks Lord.
To pass up chances, passions prod,
No thanks, I'll stay here, bored.
The apathetic structures,
Of a planet driven mad,
Tells us that I'm not a dead man,
But that how I live, is bad.
They tell me,
'Buy more boots, more guns!
Leave all this to your sons,'
Appreciation, driven deep,
To make us think were one,
With the glass-tiled towers,
Of Wall Street and New York,
To bring to you, your children,
Singing songs of straddled stork.
Judgment day is everyday,
In streets filled with the 'fresh;'
New Converse, cars, iPod's, and phones,
Who needs designer mesh?
For now, I repeat the rebels words,
To advertise the real;
I am not a dead man yet,
And to you, I will not keel.
I love it, absolutely love it. Great rhythm especially!
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