The Song of Statists
An Original Love Poem
If I think of love, I think of you
So simple and beautiful
You spread for me across the land
And take in your majesty
Your length and breadth amaze me
I move over you until I come, come home
My tailpipe sputters all over you
For the violence that was done on your behalf
Only through theft could you be made
Your recipe a mystery
No company can fathom your secrets
Please give it to me
Concluding Thoughts
Sorry things got a little weird and gross. Actually I'm not sorry. It was fun.
State sponsored violence is weird and gross.
"But who would build the roads!?" you ask... I honestly don't care. Anyone who wants to. As long as they aren't robbing me and threatening me in order to make it happen.
~Seth