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Good Morning America

Good morning America.
It’s nice to know that you’re awake.
I’ve been waiting for a chance to say
this to your face
but I didn’t think that you could take it.
Remember, words are only what you make them.
And pay attention; don't pretend to listen.
I’m not sure how long you’ve been dosing off;
so, we're still in debt, the war's still on,
your flag’s still jumping anxiously
waiting for a new direction.
Your cousins overseas;
still dying
because this ignorance can’t fight infection.
Oh, the pressure has hardly lessened.
My brother is younger than me,
yet has no struggles hustling illegal things
because the Feds don’t sweat him.
My forefather’s slaves
are rolling over in their graves
every time the rapture or Heaven’s mentioned;
because they know the only final judgment coming is the one we’re already damn near juggling,
and for that matter, loving.
Good Morning America, how was your dream?
I’d love to hear your fantasies,
because not a goddamn thing ever came to me.
I haven’t got a wink of sleep
since they became attached to strings.
If our president is a puppet;
how can he fuck us over?
The honest answer is, it isn't him—
but the controller.
Well, who controls and holds his strings?
I studied each square inch above his shoulders:
Whoever is the brain in this
sure knows how to hide their fingerprints.
While everyone insists
that they're helping our society
with their twisted, wicked risky
products...I'm conspiring.
Someone literally created the evil
masterpiece of marketing;
a product that could poison you
if you try to dispose of it
and will leak mercury and deadly compounds
onto everything that's close to it,
but also a product that is cheaper
to the average working American
and claims you're saving energy
while also helping your environment.
It's evil genius,
it is legal treason.
Meanwhile, student nurses are injecting
unknown substances into your kids.
Oh, we're sorry, she has to try
again--the first time she missed.
God forbid anyone trusts their
evolved immune system
to kick in.  
I'm conspiring, I'm skeptical,
I'm trying to understand this mess of menaces.
And while everyone insists
after searching a decade in caves and holes and pits,
America has finally killed some terrorist
(a character)
it doesn't matter if he really exists—
I will be hunting down the puppeteer.
I am almost certain
that the asshole hiding behind the curtain
still thinks his plan is working.
He has men scurry around in hats and gowns looking down upon us all, claiming they are
Holy, the only
righteous path to God.
They will tell you that Satan told me
to write down and other things that
are wrong.
Then, they will tell you the government
is for the people, by the people.
They say in order to ensure your safety,
they need to do things
otherwise illegal.
They can hear you when you're speaking
on the telephone,
they can read everything you've written
in the envelope.
They can arrest you and imprison you
then beat you if you slightly resist.
Especially if they have a reason to
think you are a terrorist--
but don't worry.
God knows the undeserving
power hungry are not worthy
and he is working with me.
We plan to chase the puppet master
down his hill, we’ll tumble after;
we will fuck him up so bad,
we break his outer shell in half.
And the little worm inside the mask
might try to scream or yell,
but I will take his wallet
and God will send him straight to hell
(regardless of what we believe in)
and then me and God will split the money even.
So wake up, put on your makeup. Rise and shine. My government has been corrupt for my entire life and now it is time to listen.
I can destroy the virus in our system
and I can take our fate resulting in
history repeating once again
and bring you the start of a new cycle of time.
I could know how to save our lives, and still—
it wouldn’t mean that everything was mine.
This world is ours, it’s always been ours.
The only thing that can destroy us now
is power.

10 Feb 12

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Brutal. Good enough not only
To keep me reading all 114 lines but
Interested in the process. It tis a burden this
World we are brought into.
See you on the other side ;)
 — Known

Oh and by the way, thanks!
 — Known

The City of New Orleans
by Steve Goodman

Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin' trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.

Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car.
Penny a point ain't no one keepin' score.
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor.
And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.


Nighttime on The City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea.
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearing railroad blues.

Good night, America, how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

©1970, 1971 EMI U Catalogue, Inc and Turnpike Tom Music (ASCAP)
 — unknown

God forbid anyone trusts their evolved immune system to kick in.  

great line
 — Rely