To the young and disillusioned,
the lied to and hurt,
but too apathetic
to rise from the dirt:
To my brothers and sisters,
every one of them strangers who
I know I should love but
so far only rage at:
Did you really think that 'nothing' was the most you could do?
Did you think that when they told you what you were, it was true?
I'm sorry. I should have tried to wake you up.
I'm sorry, but you're drinking from an empty cup.
To anyone who bought hope,
To anyone who cries Peace
from cafes and keyboards
but never from the streets:
And to anyone too stupid with happiness,
too fat with their confidence,
too proud of a nation teaching war to our innocents
to make use of your common sense:
And to the millions who are just like me,
with eyes wide open and a mind to see,
frozen and silent and choking on censure,
too scared to give the boat a rock, to start an adventure:
Do you really think that 'nothing' is the most you can do?
Do you think that when they tell you what you are, that it's true?
Or are you here, awake, aware, listening?
Pissed, crouched and silent, dangerous, waiting?
Que Sera, Sera, they said.
(fuck that)
[this is a second draft, not done yet]
