Too many faces have seen,
too many documents white-washed clean.
Moons and months turn obvious need
to ploy and pee.
Swallowing grit in the moats
demands chants from full throats.
Fighting the disillusion and smoke;
Not daring to turn a back to the turncloaks.
Breaking after broken.
Firing after fired upon.
The bend of history waits too long.
