Injun



Daka sits upon a hill
Overlooks a holy spill
Hindu breeding; world to fill
So misleading; lonely pill

Seeping ‘side all enterprise
Drenching numbers, on the rise
No one humbler; crooked eyes
We’re ground under; no one tries

Fly our flag; raise it high
Hold it up above our sty
Keep it clean, hose it dry
Pleat it, stripe it, make a tie

Symbol of country divine
Liberties, rights, to which we pine
Then we live and get a fine
And all we’re left is dirty rinds

Crumbling parts all spilt around
Mixing hearts, lost and found
Confusing minds; divine mounds
Destroying kinds; eas-ly drowned

Fruitful living presents hope
Too the life and all the dope
Try your best, you might cope
Even that’s against the pope

But how can we accept our chance
Starting seated in this dance
Must we rise and take a stance?
Despite the hope of steady trance?

Ignorance is truly bliss
Keeping clear despite that miss
Other chances, maybe this
Keep on trying, steady fist

Sudden lightning, itching thought
Keeps us fighting through the pot
Gives us purpose; out we trot
A force, a will, that’s all we’ve got