Cynic - 2010/10/31

Trampled hordes are listlessly waiting
Ever hopelessly yearning for greatness
Come rain or shine they stand in line
Even while we mock their faithfulness
A proletariat impassioned against odds
Outweighing the scope of their visions
Leaving those in power deathly afraid
Of days the meek relay their decisions
Suppressed by freedom and all they have
Even as they choose their new oppressor
Without power to quit only to rearrange
Trite dressing of victories ever lessor
Will they grow weary of this sorry game
Now unable to birth fire in their souls
Or continue to pretend its not the same
While those in power ignore their goals

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