|
EVIL’ S ROOT
|
MAIN MENU
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
A rectangular piece of paper,
|
|
|
|
|
|
With a presidential bust;
|
|
|
|
|
Symbolic signs and symbols,
|
|
|
|
|
On the back “IN God We Trust”.
|
|
|
|
|
A crème and greenish hue;
|
|
|
|
|
A value in the corner;
|
|
|
|
|
So many made in the USA,
|
|
|
|
|
‘til the present and the former;
|
|
|
|
|
|
The end result is tragic,
|
|
|
|
Copyright©2003
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
generations of our country,
should possess a healthy share.
But yet I see the destitute,
and those who need welfare;
So I must pose the questions,
How did some acquire more than others?
How did some get more than others?
How did some get barred from any?
How did some acquire their brother’
s?
The answers are appalling,
For the times will never change,
The power of the dollar ,
Grants the Evil One his fame.
A dad deceives his son;
A mom deceives her daughter;
With no conscience of the
slaughter.
A son will rob his dad;
A daughter will rob her mom;
A country will it’s people,
With no conscience of the harm.
|
For my country’s soul is tainted;
The picture being viewed,
Isn’t the real one that ‘s been painted.
I see inside those beady eyes,
Of Presidents of yore;
A wicked past of cruel deeds,
And bodies washed ashore;
From slavery boats that set their sails,
From whence my culture came;
And all they’ve seen,
Was crème and green,
No pity or no shame.
I see inside the pyramid,
With the lone, all seeing eye;
A unified, deceitful code,
That they shall justify;
Whatever sins that they amass,
In the name of truth and wisdom;
And ask that we,
Society,
Be thankful for what we’re given.
I see inside “in God We Trust”,
The hands of the hypocrite;
Whose only aim is to get his due,
And the crumbs he leaves to be split.
So why am I to hope and pray,
That some day I ‘ll obtain;
My equal share of my land’s wealth,
When it has been made plain;
The “haves” and” have nots”;
And after all the “haves” are fed,
We’re left to scrape the pot.
Although I must survive and strive,
To get my meager wages;
My soul’s at peace and pure as snow,
And never do I go through stages;
Where all my money and riches,
Can’t keep me from feeling low;
Where happiness is strange to me
Although my pains don’t show.
I’ll always be the poor old man,
Whose heart is full of wealth;
Whose money will be blessed by God,
For I’m not all for self.
I will not give the Evil One,
The pleasure of a smile,
Because I stole my dollar bills
From someone else’s pile
