They take it away.

We thought we had freedom.

We had all these things to say.

We thought we could believe them

But it comes what it may

We thought it was undeniable

Written in stone

But paper and ink are unreliable

And only on loan.

Our voices are scratchy

They sound like the grass

It seems a little faschy

Don’t mean to sound crass.

These movements are taking place in the dark

So shine a light on them.

Make your tiny mark.

Keep an eye on who has control

And what makes you dance

When they extol.

This is a perilous time

It’s hard to hold steady

In the pitch and the pine.

Better be ready

To read the map written in stars

We are going swiftly backward

Retrograde in mars.