By Armin Forouzan
Are your gimmicks still apparent?
Until the day truth unfolds and time dies, the clocks running
Its funny, our bills are soaked in dirt so we continue to wash money
But if we scrub harder, a layer beneath these Presidents and Prime Ministers is revealed
The image of a sword, to cut down destitution
And strength greater than divine protection in the form of a shield
Let me be the bearer of renaissance, the advocate wearing black in a room Painted as white
Tainted amidst this social outcry for justice, but what is justice
But a moral debate between what's wrong and what's right
So who's David, who's Goliath?
Who's good and who's evil?
Is it precarious government or nefarious people?
Subject to judgment, subtle disconnecting all these sudden appendages
Summoned by destiny's methods but subdued by its subliminal messages

Thus we engage in political ritual
And power becomes our sociopolitical currency
Freedom becomes an abstract concept even though it lives in every pad of paper and pen in this damn universe
And instead we use war for industry, economy and clarity
We use war because apparently war is power's charity
And more importantly in war, we all lose
Not human life or means of production
But lose a strand of consciousness
The paradox of our existence

So if power becomes the standard
Then revolution is a fact of life in every sense of the term
In every bend of the word, every syllable curves and burns holes inside the retina of good and evil's binary
Blinding dichotomy for the simple purpose of seeing truth
Truth which lies in a pitch black room bleeding
Victory's breathing
So loud and too arcane to let you bury
Truth allows these consonants to rain down, so lay down
And allow me to drown your souls like a flooded cemetery

Because every human, in this society, revolts at one point or another
Forget the poisonous dichotomy of Who is Good and who is Evil
Rather, what is truth?

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