We, the black keys amongst hospital-white
The half-steps, the ones who make it interesting
The loose cannons and the raised fists
Amongst threats and jeers and misunderstandings,
Stand against the propriety that leaves us vacant and weak-kneed and docile
Like doves with clipped wings and hue-zapped feathers,
Symbols of the soil while trampled beneath it.
Listen to our discordant song and experience conviction, for it will save you at last.
-D.
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