It is about the women, of course.
The sexual revolution is over,
But peace is farther than it has ever been.
They once ran the household:
In the days of old, the golden years,
When women thought small
And only of their fears.
They kept quiet,
Like grown children:
Only receiving what they hadn’t asked.
Though, so it will be until the end of time;
Until time is taxed and bent too far,
When the folkways sway,
Leaving a nation with permanent scars.
When the sepulchers of our founding fathers and mothers
Were built on the grounds of native others,
How can a country dutifully exist?
When betwixt the earth and moon,
A sky of pain rains
And all the liberal thinkers
Sees it all as insane,
You’ll see justice never comes too soon.
It’s always been about the women;
The slaves and races unlike each other,
Alike in a familiar way:
They are all running;
Running from a patriarchic disorder
Founded upon the broken backs
And dogmatic slack.
For every revolution,
There comes of it only one solution: change.
Though, change changes quickly from
Inequality/equality, oppression/resolution to
A state of silent forebodings.
It is here, that our dear country lies:
Between old wounds of social injustice
And an idealistic solace
With the silver lining turning absolutely gray.
It was never about the women,
Nor the races;
It has only ever been about the differences
We hold within.
Jefferson said by and by,
That a man once underneath another
Will never see eye-to-eye.
America hangs in a tender balance,
But the silence is erupting loudly
Like fireworks of freedom
Freemen belligerently ignite,
Unknowing of all the
Unjust strife their other color Brothers
And Sisters, Mothers feel from within.
The revolution is over;
Though, Peace is farther than it has ever been…