Righteousness - 07.12.2024

You're sitting at your desk
In your room, all alone
Drawing up maps, plans, manifestos
Though the hour may be late
The Sun will never set
On this all too perfect world of yours
With the stroke of a pen
You right the wrongs of men
Condemning millions to a life in chains

Your very own hometown
You've sold for mere pennies
To a tribe of rabid cannibals 
And my old mouldy flat
You've given to Russia
"For is it not their most rightful land?"
You're telling your old folks
That they should bear their yokes
Broadcasting pure drivel from your bedroom

You preach, knowing nothing
A sermon of hogwash
To a chorus of stomping jackboots
You know no loyalty
Though you wank to a flag
Of a distant dictatorial dump
You want to change this world
But you're not very bold
Just a jingo with a hole in his heart

And I'm so sick of it
Your cold correctness
And the tyranny of your wisdom
I've heard more than enough
Of how things should be
No great empire will come and save us
You trust princes too much
And you're too out of touch
With whose hands do you want to set things right?