They waste. They waste spirit. They waste land. They waste words. They waste thoughts.
They waste the mother. They waste shots.
Shots like the Christianity injected in our veins.
Shots like the televisions invading our brains.
Shots like the only one we had.
To stand upon our land knee deep in the sweetest grass and
Look out on the horizon over the waves and water sheet of glass
Reflecting the reflection of our new history,
The one in which our mother was torn and we were ripped from her breast,
Where our lives became “lazy”
And we were forced to work without rest,
A reflection of a new world order of improving that which never needed improvement,
If you think mother needed roads and strip malls
Then you don’t deserve her gifts
If you can’t take care of her,
Then leave her as she sits
Take your liquid glass reflection back over that horizon
And all her true children will emerge from all that they’ve been disguised in
And they’ll pray healing prayers
And dance healing songs
(with death culture gone it shouldn’t be long..)
Cuz you see,
I don’t know who manifest was
But he isn’t me,
and I’m glad
cuz he had one fucked up destiny.
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