This poem makes up the lyrics of a new song by Celtic Brother:
Talking heads spewing propaganda like religious chants from screens.
Turning my head to avoid the poison and escape the reprogramming of me.
Holding five fingers in front of my face, but those around me tell me there are only three.
Bright purple, red, yellow, and green colors I see slowly fade to black and white.
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Talking heads spewing propaganda like religious chants from screens.
The mall has turned into a dead sanctuary like a “Dawn of the Dead” B-movie. And I am a zombie trying to recapture a pre-COVID vision that has been stamped out by those on top of the untouchable food chain.
No more mom-and-pops; no more kid-filled merry-go-rounds, only the homeless, oldsters, and loners sitting on benches watching construction workers tearing down sections of this temple…
