Oh Revolt! My Revolt!
Old America is dying
And this voyage is about to come to an end.
TVs and phones burn bright.
Old ghosts can not rest.
We aren’t the champions we pretend to be.
We aren’t winning the race to the end.
We are bloody from failure.
Our lip is swollen and tastes of copper.
Our eyes flinch from the light.
Soon, a new captain will take the helm,
The bell will ring,
The slaves will make music.
Blind no more.
Fight or die.
The future will crash down hard.
Hold on tight.
Prompt 8, Hour 8