They rattle their shackles as they walk by,
They make sure all know of their pains;
“Oppression!” Is what they unanimously cry,
“We are bound up by these chains!”;
They stand in the center of city square,
Their numbers are quite large;
They inform all how it isn’t fair,
And how they’d change it if they were in charge;
It becomes a battle of who has it worse,
With pity being the prize;
And yet with each verse,
It becomes unbearable to my eyes;
As much as I wish, I cannot cry out,
For I lie in a prison;
My voice is weak and cannot shout,
And my arms cannot be risen;
For I am truly bound by chains,
Not something to rejoice;
And I truly feel the pains,
For I cannot speak my voice;
I lie in this pit alone,
With no one to hear;
Yet rarely do I even groan,
Despite my aching fear;
People laugh at the “oppressed”,
They think it’s just a game;
If only they could see me,
And they could see my chains;
They forget the forgotten,
And can’t see the blind;
The deaf can’t be heard,
And the lost they can’t find;
These “warriors” compromise us,
They make us a joke;
When others try to discuss,
They ignore the holes they poke;
In their arguments, for they “know” the pain,
And they “know” our struggle;
They “know” what its like to stand in the rain,
And how to deal with the problems we juggle;
But no more will I remain quiet,
No more will my voice be still;
For I will stand tall and defiant,
Until these “warriors” realize their own crimes;
Until that day,
Until...