I would comfortably sit back with a cigarette in hand and watch this skyline drawn by fascist hands burn.
The paper fading to ash as if the current standard of living – economic segregation.
Wars keep the cemeteries entertained with constant shows of sorrow,
While blood fattens the pocket in support of the next.
Black paint marks indiscretion on the diplomats suit
But man, miseducated and damned by ‘liberated’ eyes.
Unable to see beyond the name
We return to the ballet with distorted songs of democracy,
Hands playing badly tuned instruments
That pierce the ear with sad symphonies.
By [Artist Name Here]