ça ira

it’s a wound up world except for the square

that you’re standin in  in the center of the world

that you burned into a map but that doesn’t exist

except when you’re screaming your head off, shaking your fist

there was a marriage in the capitol today — democracy 

married peace  never apart, two of a kind

living in an arena we were goin at each other — they were okay at first

until fights every night in the kitchen and then she gave birth

to a golden-haired boy with a gun in his hand

who claimed this was your land and my land

but mostly his because he ripped it up, built

corporations on the sacred bones of tradition

made new traditions to never break old traditions

— but the old traditions are violence

peace died birthing still-born justice but 

violence gave her a funeral for three days until

her most popped up demanding bread, roses

and you to pay for your crimes

but every time she spoke she got shot

in her bed late at night

until her arms were so covered in holes she always wore long sleeves

but her brother didn’t care n did whatever he pleased

until, stomping on the center of the world with

nothin but a manilla folder and a chip on his shoulder

justice said “where are you goin?” the military 

guards gave him a hug and stood aside

he walked right into the capitol and put on a crown

and napoleon smiled, lookin down

but justice had another agenda, walking, rallying in the streets

with the cry “les aristocrats, on les pendra!”