Propaganda Machine

The propaganda machine speeds on relentless

And we can’t do a damn thing to prevent this,

We sit down and take in the lies we all read,

But don’t hear of the tyrant’s or their filthy greed,

Of editors and columnists, of readers and of men

Fearful of the world reported not the world we ken,

Here we sit and dwell till poverty gives abode,

I don’t know any of the families living down my road,

The papers say their kids will stab me

And if I report them the police black flag me,

Estates where once harmonious dreams tried to thrive

Turned out dank and pissed stained where only the strong survive,

The weak are left behind with a sallow look of brain,

Kid’s with knives and suicide is all that oft’ remain,

And false the man who stands with poise and grace,

Preaching to the masses from his second face,

He tells us all is well and we can be so safe

But naught have I read to justify this wraith,

Harbinger of lies but not a paper type,

This propaganda machine spreads some fucking tripe.

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