66 lines
3.3 KiB
Plaintext
66 lines
3.3 KiB
Plaintext
_______________________________________________ _________________
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\_ __ \_ \ / \ / \_ \ | __/ ____/ \ | \| | __/
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_| |/ / = \| |/ = \| / | ___/_ _ | | | /___ _
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\________/___|___\__|_|__/___|___\_____|______/|_| \__|__|\__|_____/|_|
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======================== "The name speaks for itself!" ========================
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Poetic Rantings
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http://surf.to/damage_inc
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damage_inc@disinfo.net
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===============================================================================
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Error of Terror.
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Hand a bill to a man walking the street. "Good day to be alive sir. Thanks,
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pleased to meet." You nod and you walk. Busy lives. No time to stop for a
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moment and talk...
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Era of terror. Terror's the error. Manic faces twisted with madness and
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altered by chaos. Changed and afraid. Profit and pillage at all costs.
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Exploit the weak. Find the weakness and steamroll the meek... Enslave the
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homeless. More profit must be made. Ever fibre in your being is under duress.
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As the stress builds... your mind bends. Heart ruptures. Life as you know
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it ends. Is money the means? Is greed a means to an end? Is that not how
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it seems?
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But everything can change. It doesn't have to be about profit for pain.
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Capitalism doesn't have to be at all costs... Killing machines. Exploitation,
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destruction of environment, cultures, jobs and lives lost.
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You still have a voice. Let the silent and forgotten become powerful. Speaking
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out is the last option... only choice. Let them be seen and radiate. Let them
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gather en mass, to take it back.
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No moments of rest. Walking the streets disheveled. No peace. No rest. All
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hell. Survival and strife... All stress. Segregated and ignored by all else
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around them. You walk right past them without noticing. Each time you do they
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feel even less human... more condemned.
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Happy now? Find solace in the suburbia you've built. Play the star in sports
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and on stages to the applause of "society"... and take your well deserved bows.
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Ain't it funny how some are less fortunate than you? They have nothing. While
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you flaunt wealth, shop at glass malls on weekends... for new clothes and
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expensive shoes.
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Freezing while sleeping in parks and on sidewalks. Hypothermia is a constant
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fear. Always on your mind... so cold you can barely talk. Legs feel like
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concrete and each step causes your body to ache. Pain. A strong sensation yet
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emotions are stronger... sadness still remains.
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Under bridges they huddle in a futile attempt to find warmth. Nameless faces.
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Awaiting the blizzard to hit... just the latest storm. An eclectic group of
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people seeking shelter... all ages, colours, creeds, backgrounds and races.
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At least poverty doesn't discriminate. Wait... check yourself. Is it too late?
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Starving now. Cold... broken... down. Poverty breaks spirits. It chains.
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It takes your humanity and breaks it into pieces... and with fury it hits.
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Pity and tears don't cut it. The broken pieces of people's lives have to be
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reassembled... so that once again they all fit.
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Cold. Hungry. Begging. Dying. Lives shattered in tatters.
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Written by BLACKENED / Damage, INC. (C)opyright 2001.
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