They
Such things that we get used to.
Them, the terrible Them.
Who we can blame for all our problems,
Who bring us new ones when the supply runs down.
Them, we get used to,
All the things They do.
Dismissing anything and pressing, pressuring destructive, self-destructive
Conformity like wolves. At flesh-scent
We are tempted and we take their equality bait.
Like the idols we're supposed to look up to--
There are few who are truly great. Who do
They think we are, the fools? But then
We are the fools, actors, fiction in the end.
They who design our lives.
They who control our minds.
They who take our pain
And our souls, till nothing can remain
Of us, the ones who only wanted the truth,
Less quote-unquote, and a little say
In the world's goings-on,
Some words of their own
And a way to give them to anyone
Who dares to read them.
Very well be nobody.
I couldn't care less.