Listen to the grumble like jungle drums.
Beatings of tribal pain.
Bodies bound in confusion, “No solution!
Revolution only changes the chains.
Work for wages, slaves until grave.”
Cry to Heaven; gaze in vain for Justice’s rain,
or the reign of the last of the thieves.
Listen. Those vast conspiracies we the people
choose to believe
give a glance of a chance for a grip, a foothold.
At least we perceive lies prevail, a market of fraud.
What must be sold to buy an award or trophy wife.
What kind of life do these drums applaud?
Listen. Learn to move like music. Lead in daring dance.
Or, listen; then go on dancing alone.
Or, listen, step above late hour trance;
Let resonant rousing music call the tune.