The dead tree poets

Another light on the hill.
Leads the tip of my quill.
While all the childrens milk is left to spill.
We both see the truth behind the real.
You may ask us for the time.
And you may see us playing the mime.
But never believe that we are the bearers of crime.
It was there yesterday that lead us to the dime.
Where a government god killed us so.
With a little jester from the crow.
Taking our land into the dead where no seeds can grow.
Here a indian has a scar from the withered soe.
So if you think we are the disease.
I must say please.
Take your guns god somewhere else to seaze.
And leave my home for the breeze.
Cause I think we have had enough of your sleaze.
Or didn't you see the kings feet.
When you chained him to the fleet.
So your side could win the meat.
Like a butcher in the summer heat.


Hey all just thought I would say whuzz-up.



[Edited on 21-6-2003 by cainecrawford]

Hi craine welcome to ATS! Nice poem or is it a song?

It's whatever you want it to be!