BreakCanon
10-02-07, 11:52 PM
Aztec obsidian strikes sparks against conquistador armor,
Which is the harder headed, which is the peasant farmer?
Bargaining elites could never reconcile fact with jargon,
Sloganeering poachers pursue the hunt into the summer,
Deep into the recesses of the dark and moistened forest,
Their communicative shouts enliven the Earth with a morbid chorus.
I bridge moats across several deadly seas of dissonance,
Trying to win the population over to historical relevance,
Irreverent, I’m to clever to buy into your meta-narrative,
The intellectual equivalent of playing musical chairs,
There are no willing players in your textbook paradigm,
Just a mass of random names that circumstance took for a ride,
I am not too shy to admit that there is little I comprehend,
But as Socrates would have it, that makes me all the more a man.
While the masses led by red and black may seek each others flanks,
There is little to distinguish the communist from the fascist ranks,
Flags may change and the generals rant in sounding different tongues,
But the language of war remains the same for the lower ladder rungs,
Pre-war harangues may differ in their superficial justifications,
But who is fooling who when all wars lead to the same destination?
Slavery, it amazes me how little we relieve the past,
Cast molds present descend into a cacophonous crash,
Endemic to the population, it’s just a question of facades,
Marauding Wagner symphonies lead the natives on the run,
Guns blaze infernal, casting shadows on the mold,
9-5 indentured servitude to the pop culture we are sold.
Please try and understand the context in which we breathe,
Adolescent zeitgeist is just an old name for the same disease,
Hence the smell of gangrene creeping across the edifice,
Hacksaw and forceps, this decay bears its own presence,
With a life of its own it is reaching across the sands,
Cracking the hourglass walls until they can barely stand.
Which is the harder headed, which is the peasant farmer?
Bargaining elites could never reconcile fact with jargon,
Sloganeering poachers pursue the hunt into the summer,
Deep into the recesses of the dark and moistened forest,
Their communicative shouts enliven the Earth with a morbid chorus.
I bridge moats across several deadly seas of dissonance,
Trying to win the population over to historical relevance,
Irreverent, I’m to clever to buy into your meta-narrative,
The intellectual equivalent of playing musical chairs,
There are no willing players in your textbook paradigm,
Just a mass of random names that circumstance took for a ride,
I am not too shy to admit that there is little I comprehend,
But as Socrates would have it, that makes me all the more a man.
While the masses led by red and black may seek each others flanks,
There is little to distinguish the communist from the fascist ranks,
Flags may change and the generals rant in sounding different tongues,
But the language of war remains the same for the lower ladder rungs,
Pre-war harangues may differ in their superficial justifications,
But who is fooling who when all wars lead to the same destination?
Slavery, it amazes me how little we relieve the past,
Cast molds present descend into a cacophonous crash,
Endemic to the population, it’s just a question of facades,
Marauding Wagner symphonies lead the natives on the run,
Guns blaze infernal, casting shadows on the mold,
9-5 indentured servitude to the pop culture we are sold.
Please try and understand the context in which we breathe,
Adolescent zeitgeist is just an old name for the same disease,
Hence the smell of gangrene creeping across the edifice,
Hacksaw and forceps, this decay bears its own presence,
With a life of its own it is reaching across the sands,
Cracking the hourglass walls until they can barely stand.