Spam

These words but letters strung together,
These thoughts but whispers in a storm,
These tears but reflections of a moment,
Absent without leave, devoid of form.

These hearts cry out for love and understanding,
These ears are not receptive to the waves,
These voices cry out in hopeless desperation,
Hoping for a miracle, to save.

You know I used to love this fucking planet,
But the more I look the more I want to puke,
These money grubbing scum have over run it,
Left us with a steaming pile of nukes.

These times, they are made for revolution,
But everyone is hunched over like a crone,
Sitting in the dark behind a keyboard,
Like islands, deserted and alone.

These words don't mean a thing to you I reckon,
I'm just another idiot who cares,
But money has us all over a barrel,
And far too many hoard instead of share.

These words, but letters strung together,
A vain attempt to reach out beyond the sham
Communication for the ones who listen,
And to the greedy, selfish bastards it's just spam.