2. The air thickens with their speeches,
their ink bleeding like poison,
their laws pressed to our throats.
We hear it on the screens,
in the whispers of neighbors—

6

6. And what—what is left to defend?
The anthem’s played hollow,
the monuments cracking,
the promises eaten through with rust?

6

7. Run—faster now.
Run before the streets erupt,
before the sky splits,
before neighbor turns on neighbor,
before peace is just another casualty.
Run, while there’s still breath in your chest.
Run, before you learn that even running won’t save you.

6

5. Do we run? Do we hide?
Do we split the country like rotting wood,
tear the seams before the fire does?
Or do we stand here, barehanded,
to fight for soil already salted,
a flag already stained,
a nation already gasping?

4

4. And the president—our president—
looks at us as if we’re vermin,
his smile a blade, his oath a mockery.
So tell me—where does that leave us?

3

1. Run—run far away
from these cities bent into cages,
from streets paved with straightjackets,
from the sermons of leaders
who declare war not on enemies abroad
but on us—
on you, on me, on peace itself.

2

3. a civil war whispered into existence,
citizens arming themselves
against shadows called “common man.”

2