Democracy, ah, democracy, what flight of fancy this? I walk the painted pavements of the city barefoot, soulless, upon the precious metals of wall street MY HOME, AH YES, THE SHIT IT IS MY HOME. The poverty of MY inheritance is the thirst, the hunger, the monosyllabic nature of my ways. A LONE. I alone in this cold democracy, my children slain in the streets of Belfast THEY ARE AT WAR, bleeding on Harlem sidewalks. THEY ARE AT WAR. THE THEY THEY SAID WAS I. NO. I RUN FROM IT. I WILL NOT FIGHT THESE DEMOCRATIC WARS.
...I have no power, no strength, the conditions were already-decided, I had no choice but to accept(I spat it out like poison, ON THE STREES), or stand alienated from those conditions (subjected to as truth, reality, fact) NONE OF IT, I stand in the crossfire of my parents' pain, they died in europe as children, FOR THEIR DEMOCRACY, they prepared me for the same death (you have heard it described as tomorrow).I stood in line for the future, BUT WOULDN'T PAY THE PRICE. Whose blood this that spills upon my earth? THIS PIT. They walk from the Halls of Congress, baronial mansions, palaces, they don't die by the children of the poor. Lead in silent skies, scimitars, in the storm-clouds of my youth?
THESE CHILDREN ARE THE VERY SAME AS MYSELF (torn at birth).
...So,I ask you, HERE THE DEMOCRACY? Do I choose to torture the vietnamese farmer, numb in his fear? Do I choose to gun down my mother's child in Belfast streets (blinded by our rag flags)? Do I choose to discuss the merits of chemical warfare? Would I choose your Hiroshima? Run routeways through your garden?(they carry the oppressed to the gas-chamber. THEY GIVE ME THE MOANING CLOSENESS OF NAGASAKI AS AN ONLY FUTURE. Because their guilt cannot be appeased, they must go on, because my parents left their trail of blood across my childhood, they must go on, on in their blind imperialism, nationalism, racism and must continue to support the DEMOCRACY that can justify that......................IGNORANCE.

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