I don’t know if these words will find
The one’s they were written for
Or that the expression they contain
Will be heard by those they were meant for
Or Even if
The need is greater than the art
I find these times to be of great concern
I sense the breeze is strong for those of duplicity
This is the irony in these tales
And their meanings
Drone bombs fall on my brothers
My sons my daughters my sisters
Blinded by poverty and the air of deprivation
Blinded by machines that show no mercy
Blinded by the men who control their aims
Blind are those who see not this travesty
Foolish am I who thinks we will reach this amnesty
Yet, despite this anger and rage
These lyrics are not bullets
They are not incendiary
Maybe these thoughts are too simple
Their aim a little elementary
Could it be that such emotions
Just don’t reach the parts of us
That will give rise to a force
For change
That will actually deliver
The people of Gaza
The price of the suffering in Bosnia
And the screams of Ten-year-old Husna in Chechnya
I use to believe
Now I just bleed words
And lyrics for us forgotten misfits
We chase the web for YouTube and a million Tweets
While I was writing this…
Another family’s dreams was just blown to bits
“While I was Writing” by Cypher 7 A.D
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