This wind feels untrustworthy
And the air falls so stale
Is this June?
My favorite month is being held up
By pulleys and threads
And anytime now the backdrop will fall
We’ll see a war funded by our tax dollars
Dead children on the ground
A genocide
An election that might as well consist of
Fiery red coals and pitchforks
Money flying from the sky
But people being hungry and dying
This country has hypnotized its people into believing
We are all free
When our strings need tightened every four years

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