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======================== "The name speaks for itself!" ========================

                                Poetic Rantings

                           http://surf.to/damage_inc
                            damage_inc@disinfo.net
===============================================================================

Error of Terror.

Hand a bill to a man walking the street.  "Good day to be alive sir.  Thanks,
pleased to meet."  You nod and you walk.  Busy lives.  No time to stop for a
moment and talk...

Era of terror.  Terror's the error.  Manic faces twisted with madness and
altered by chaos.  Changed and afraid.  Profit and pillage at all costs.

Exploit the weak.  Find the weakness and steamroll the meek... Enslave the
homeless.  More profit must be made.  Ever fibre in your being is under duress.

As the stress builds... your mind bends.  Heart ruptures.  Life as you know
it ends.  Is money the means?  Is greed a means to an end?  Is that not how
it seems?

But everything can change.  It doesn't have to be about profit for pain.
Capitalism doesn't have to be at all costs...  Killing machines.  Exploitation,
destruction of environment, cultures, jobs and lives lost.

You still have a voice.  Let the silent and forgotten become powerful.  Speaking
out is the last option... only choice.  Let them be seen and radiate.  Let them
gather en mass, to take it back.

No moments of rest.  Walking the streets disheveled.  No peace.  No rest.  All
hell.  Survival and strife...  All stress.  Segregated and ignored by all else
around them.  You walk right past them without noticing.  Each time you do they
feel even less human... more condemned.

Happy now?  Find solace in the suburbia you've built.  Play the star in sports
and on stages to the applause of "society"... and take your well deserved bows.
Ain't it funny how some are less fortunate than you?  They have nothing.  While
you flaunt wealth, shop at glass malls on weekends... for new clothes and
expensive shoes.

Freezing while sleeping in parks and on sidewalks.  Hypothermia is a constant
fear.  Always on your mind... so cold you can barely talk.  Legs feel like
concrete and each step causes your body to ache.  Pain.  A strong sensation yet
emotions are stronger... sadness still remains.

Under bridges they huddle in a futile attempt to find warmth.  Nameless faces.
Awaiting the blizzard to hit... just the latest storm.  An eclectic group of
people seeking shelter... all ages, colours, creeds, backgrounds and races.
At least poverty doesn't discriminate.  Wait... check yourself.  Is it too late?

Starving now.  Cold... broken... down.  Poverty breaks spirits.  It chains.
It takes your humanity and breaks it into pieces... and with fury it hits.
Pity and tears don't cut it.  The broken pieces of people's lives have to be
reassembled... so that once again they all fit.

Cold.  Hungry.  Begging.  Dying.  Lives shattered in tatters.

Written by BLACKENED / Damage, INC. (C)opyright 2001.
