Pounding at the Door 

not my original image!

Like grass in sway
on the verge of thunder
the humid and electric drum

A change and the blades do pitch us
once again, what other way?
and a bottle rises in silence

Then our voices rise as one
Then our voices amplified

Then our riot sways and swells
Our ebb, our flow and our decay.

On the wings and drums of violence
hear us pounding at the door

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