My Country

As time goes on I seem to see,
things happening around my tree.

The people swirl, their voices curl,
their patterns starting to unfurl.

They've battened down, they think we're full,
they think when the hide they look real cool.

But they are working with one source,
whereas the rest have three, of course.

They never learned to spread the load,
they twist their time to suit their own.

Consistency is never there,
they set a date and then beware.

But they can't see the rest all laugh
the truth they hold's not even half.

You can run from the truth, but you cannot hide,
the horrors that are held inside.

All the evil started here, we created the original twin fear.
We killed our own in funeral pyres, and so began our spiral dire.

Haunted by the ghosts of them, the ginger spares just trying,
to show us how many ways we could have stopped dying.

But still the mothers eat their kids, and we all share our brains.
I'll tell you it's a wonder we don't drive you all insane.

I'm going to try a trick quite soon, and one way or another,
we'll see who's on a loop right here, and who's still got soul, brother.

Our women think they beat the Buddha,
playing his own game.
The thing with hives is, everyone knows,
exactly who's got shame.

Some can mask it, some can shout.
But I still hear their cry.
They tell me with a little pout,
or stabbing that they try.