My name is death to traitors, and I cluster in the sun
with warriors and goggle-eye gangsters down for the fight,
ready to write the wrongs on pamphlets and show them
to everyone grabbing guns, emerging as the infinite army
maybe, so after the rules are even keeled and correctly directed
our army will flourish and crush oppressors into bad memory.
The king is dead, trumpets cheer fireworks, blood and bullets,
we will call this a death party for the backwash bossmen
because we know we’ll never see them again, not on top
anyway, or up from behind for their ideas have no traction
in the world they’ve created, or so we thought.
Corruption eats its own tale, horrifying instructions
of how to topple a dictatorship, read rule number one,
find a hero and raise him because the people will hear
what I tell them and nothing more, for revolutions must be
controlled to be effective, directed to be power force fortune..