The Rusted Wheel: a poem
The rusted wheel that turns
Through unrewarded labor
Will roll away and decay
When things shift in our favor
When boasting voices go hoarse
Amidst pronouncements of truth
Control vested from the old guard
New hope invested in the youth
When the road map to oblivion
Finds false tongues tangled
The confusion and ineptitude
Will leave their plans mangled
Spoils not shared with the masses
Towers of wealth built on our backs
Crumble when we stop defining ourselves
By the hopes and dreams we lack
When the cracked bells of justice ring
May the hour not come too late
To rouse the sleeping masses
And wrest control of our own fate
