- seeds of dissent root in the blood of martyrs together, we were strong, then Apart, we fall unto a sword of personal perdition, acceptance of their insanity, over our own desires. Opened our arms to their vendettas, Became what we once despised. an age-old rhyme, freedom fighters How can change happen in a country where policy makers age out their worn-out old ideas about the world against the persistence of the young, the insistence of new minds who dont want old men with old minds to protect them. The old architects of fear, who can only build castles, walls, moats, call it progress, shame on them, Here we are at Columbia again sixty years later, the same issues, same monsters running to the shelter of their always dying society, dying. dead. The children of the children of the children consummated by the old vestiges of war, genocide, lies. Encircled. We've seen this ...
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