• aghoraa 5w

    Molten Hot

    We don't bend our knee
    To dictators
    Unless they prove beneficial:
    We bend one, sure
    But the other, we keep ready
    And our swords hot, molten hot
    The moment
    The dictator gets old
    We smother him in his sleep
    And his children
    We make slaves.
    We don't bend our knee, no
    We just rest
    The ground
    We step on.