Cabal

Why put the Truth in the news?
Why not just recycle the tales tried and true?
Why let the People question anything we do?
It gives you something to focus on aside from you.

What's it feel like to hold a nation in your palm,
to keep the people feeding from your hand while you're reciting Psalms?

What must a man do to keep his brother so subdued
that instead of seeking out the truth they'd prefer to drop nukes?

How could one become so lost that the cost of all their wrongs
becomes buried in a debt so deep the banks can't play along?

When treachery becomes so widespread that it's worthy of song?

The tales that these bards of sung are music, just to some,
others much prefer the sound of callused hands being wrung

to the rhythm of a register cashed out when sets the sun.
The night sky's stars are diamonds to be mined when gold's no fun.

The earth is just a purchase to these men, it's just begun
and as the moonlight casts us under spell, it shall be sung

that the children of this world hurled their mother into sin
as they milked her, never giving heed to paternal cries within.

But alas, such crass behavior was no bargain
one should make when the stakes are taken from our lifeblood kin.

With each strike of the axe we whack another brother down,
and with each rock split by hammer, we only doom ourselves to drown.

But hark! There is some hope for these cutthroat brigands
trying to blast the goddess Gaia into such bloody strands.

We're not the first, the worst has yet to walk these lands
if we don't reach out and live this out with open hearts and hands.

The miracle is here for all, we've just been holding out
when compassion takes the reigns it will eradicate the doubt.

The ego thinks it rules but it just flaps about like trout
beached and gasping for a gulp of air to belch back out.

But nay, when this confusion is left to its own devices
it inevitably comes to be that things collapse, like seasons.

When the monkey is set free, it can't control its breathing
but it sure as hell can build societies where no one's dreaming.

But all it takes? The wakes of stones tossed into lakes, believing
that the ripples run beyond our times, beneath all that we're seeing

and the rhythm of the waves striking the shore is oft deceiving
but it reminds the mind that peace is a recurring state of being.