Eleven eleven eleven
How many steps to heaven?
Twenty-five, eighty-six or inifinty and seven?
I wonder on eleven eleven eleven

All these poppies
Synthetically grown
Politically correct uniform
Militaristic seeds sewn

A moment of silence
For our glorious dead
Then off to WalMart
“Do you have this in red?”

Speak no evil
Hold your tongue
Grab yourself
A higher corporate rung

To the victor
Go the spoils
It used to be gold
Now it’s oil

As your plannin’ your day
Don’t forget about eternity

                                  O.G. Hawkins


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