A whirl wind of ballots stormed around us.
And the world still lives.
Governments all over the world speak only with one eye on the law.
And the other on their wallets.
We sit idly by with hope and fear in our throats.
Tired of politicians and their words.
When all we want is a future for the ones coming into our world.
To know there is something more than hate and fear.
We, the down-market class stare through a window of what we can achieve.
While martyrs on oak thrones throw us into despair.
A man on the street just wants to live in a melody of hope.
While the masters above bang on the drums of servitude that none hear.
Fate is in the hands that are tied to their personal will.
With no choice of prosperity.
I wait looking through the window.
Waiting to throw the brick that is in my hand.
To hear the alarm sound.
And when my legs run to freedom.