I do not write music,

Because music will not give me freedom.

I do not write prose,

Because prose will not save the most vulnerable among us.

I do not care about who I love,

Because with freedom, how can there be love?

I do not care about how cool I am,

Or the people that like me,

Or the bands that are playing,

Because without freedom, what are they?

Shadows on the wall, mocking what we used have,

Safety of mind, safety of will, and goodwill to all men.

That such an existential threat, to all our freedoms,

Visits us on daily basis, without respite, even

Before, they take the reigns of power,

Bodes to their ill will to all we hold dear.

So I do not, eat, in feast or merriment.

I do not drink, to assuage my fears,

I cry in the dark of night,

Alone and still, at the edge or the world,

When so many walk by, casually still,

Give me liberty, or give me death,

I rebel.