For a select few our silence is golden
They slide around unseen and unnamed
They leer at us from their jets on high
They own the very air we are breathing
They sell the guns to those they will kill
Their greed transcends all understanding
Our compliance is golden, a mute to this ill
That paper is money and silence is golden.
Some sound is allowed for the whimpering plight
More jobs from the left? Less tax from the right?
But this is as silence while the planets screams
As the engine of the few roars and ravages
Three hundred they number, these few
And we who are silent are seven billion
This golden few own near half of it all
The rest of mankind in silence makes do
There’s no reason for silence, it’s a habit
A golden hubbub can balance this crime
If we stay silent as complicit enablers
These few will rape us time after time
Written by Francis de Aguilar ©
Collage: Suelena Noguer