I feel the heartache
And desperation
In every documentary
Each snapshot
And trophy kill
The look
Too honest to
Not beg
A question
Of quiet accusation
From which
There is nowhere
To hide
This is not my place
There is no time
For this life
I am living
Belong amongst
Those glossy
Glassy stares
Protecting ones who
Cannot see
The impending storm
And what that
Might mean
For my future
When the inevitable
Witch hunt once again
Rolls through America
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