Trudge Activism

Trudge Activism black sand feels heavy the strain of forcing fro Steinbeck, Huxley, Orwell say there is a door over black dunes through dense fog i've stood on heads climbed huge adverts switched off a million TV's swam in Jefferson's blood and watched Ken Kesey die and the wind get's harder leaves sewn with gold tumbleweed snares raindrops of tears it's so cold so tough but there by the books over men in high thrones over priests in robes and beyond bank notes some little entrance i can almost reach it but on these ankles roots of my people tightening with each step and i can't convince them to join me i can only break loose they cannot see the door.