In the city of Liberty, wealthy people cry
All in black they take to the streets in daylight
Their processions holding traffic as they mourn.
They carry the coffins of the poor through the city
Each face streaked with tears as their liberties die
to Tyrants.
***
and the coffins wobble and vibrate
dull thuds banging again and again
dampened hollers on the deaf ears
of the mourners
as they walk through the streets
To bury the "dead" poor.
***
In a different city, the night is starless
and sunless, and lightless.
screams cannot be heard here, only gunfire.
the poor are shot; no one is rich.
The leader hides behind the night's veil
and infants are eaten by soldiers for breakfast
***
The sun seems so far away
on the other side of the world.
But the people fight on
in total darkness and loneliness
the First Flame will come
It shall come.