“It’s free, it’s free, and all for me!”
Eradicate prosperity
To vanquish all disparity.
(and mortgage all posterity)

Divided camps: it’s us or them.
The crowns and robes with ermine hem.
Dividing up the wealth of them,
Destroyed for every diadem.

From open doorways, freedom sings,
The angels ride on dragon wings,
And doors are closed to darker things
By bloody stumps that once bore rings.

This uniform I wore with zeal
I wear when begging for a meal.
Nostalgia, ere the broken seal
(an empty belly bids me “steal”).

We care not for the banker’s math,
No running water for the bath,
An inconvenient aftermath;
We chose the way of blood and wrath.

Whose rogues are theses with foreign face?
Invading every sacred space
To shame us with contrived disgrace.
The grave, our only resting place.

My door was broken down with spite.
Too weak to protest, run, or fight.
Their faces glow with pure delight.
The rope is slack; the noose is tight.

This juggernaut the young have wrought,
Eternal as simplistic thought.
Betrayed for thirty grams of pot;
The teacher doomed by those he taught.

“It’s free, it’s free, and all for me!”
I mocked them with the irony.
My bough upon this hanging tree;
My final words and eulogy.