Trial by fire.
A fistful of ire.
Head in a mire.
A funeral pyre.
Entreating desire,
formed of a liar.

Feast on confusion,
for ignorance fusion,
is like a mental contusion,
wrought by collusion,
and the pitiful delusion,
of total inclusion.

The death of our choice,
has taken our voice,
and left to rejoice,
within a new Rolls-Royce.

It took along our freedom,
as lady-liberty went numb,
to keep from promoting ’em,
but they totaled her sum.

So now our country burns,
while Earth makes its turns,
and thinking-machines learns,
though they no longer yearns,
for the silence they earns–
we’ve seen Humanity’s urns.

We’ll all burn to ashes,
from those skeptical dashes,
whose freedom-check cashes,
from under us in flashes,
while violence mashes,
and against our heads bashes.

Our only option,
an unearthly concoction,
to launch us in auction,
of stars’ adoption.

So that one day we might,
put down the fight,
and shine out our light,
as beings of height.
What a lovely thought, right?