The Great Wake 39: Tar Pit

 

The shouters must be shouted down,  somebody's got to do it.  We the people's roar can drown out any shout, the decibel level is 11.  It's cranked up like never before.  Public noise violations are at an all time high.  The bottom is booming, the treble is hissing, the reverb is echoing.

We the people are not reading the news, we are not hypnotized by the breaking headlines, we are deciding on our own, paying attention.  These American tyrants got to go, they must be sent off, exiled and reviled.  They will drag as many as possible, dragging is what they know, but their fingernails are getting brittle, the tug-of-war is too much.  Into the tar pit first, then the feathers.  Make a spectacle of their spectacle.

Ignore the sheep, they are sheep, they do what sheep do.  The shepherds are what matters, skilled and protective, they are like shadows, they know the angles, they know the sun.  Their work is done in the dark, while the herd sleeps.  The sheep know nothing when they wake, they just start eating.  They have wool over their eyes.