I eat revolutions,
Always begging for more.
Though I've never really seen one before.

They are often the proper solution,
I'm on the side of the poor.
They are the exploited, the tired, and the sore. So sore.

Social evolution,
It's always a dirty chore.
Rarely are we prepared for what it has in store anymore.

We grow tired of the prosecution,
Of the weak just for the gore.
The exploitation of our people just like a whore. An ignorant whore.

Those who are satisfied with devastation,
Who are happy in their superstores.
They do not know the truth of what it means to go to war. Real war.

In this puppet show institution,
Full of people we deplore.
How can anyone recognize what it is that we really stand for?

Do you remember our revolution?
All of the ideas it served to underscore?
Ideas by great minds; Descartes, Locke, or Sir Thomas More?

Now we're crammed into this mental institution,
Listening to actors calling out the score.
Is anyone really ready to take the floor?

Are you ready to make your contribution?
To come to the fore?
Or will let yourself get caught up in lies and never come to a rapport?

History has an attribution,
An aspect at its core.
It is made every day, and it is made up of what you allowed for.

Lemme know what you think? It came to me in a dream last night.
If you share this gimme credit, my name is Rebecca Vita.