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A Requiem of Red

The nightmare, the hammers, the sickles ahead,

The future is bleak, it is black, it is red

The history of horror, the miseries ones fled

Hosting fresh Histories, deciding what’s said


The practice, the shortages, the scarcity of bread

The masters, the deciders, they decide what is fed

The death, the despair, the piles of dead

The records, the mysteries of those who have bled


The judges, the masters pick who fights in their stead

No sacrifice, no compassion for those who have fled

They hold the future in charge of what’s read

They spare the truth, no need, not a shred


No care for the people, not Sally, not Ned

They hardly hesitate to do away with the head

No more individuals, debate put to bed

Prioritizing one thing, their crates full of lead


Acronyms galore, ‘A’ through to zed

Some friendly, familiar, names such as FRED

It’s treachery, it’s over the cliff on a sled

It’s sleeping in slums, no homes but a shed 


Subjecting the people to wars of great dread

The future, the truth, their heritage is dead

No time for rest, fueled by fear and plenty of PED

Fearing the wrath of those at the head 


Own nothing you will, a requiem of red


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