A sad sick world

by Patrick Watson   Nov 26, 2022

Under the mantle of a star filled African night
I listen to the wind in that majestic setting
A teenager with a rifle
An extension of my arm, by now
They dress you all the same
You are only that number that they have given you
You are fit, hard in body and soul
They break you down to the lowest common denotator
You act on command
Why is that so strange to me now?
We were many back then, but we were one
The smoke screen of words so pertinent back then
All hollow in there meaning now
For generations our family did their biding,
No more!


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