Imperial Justice

Chris Rosica, Glyphs Contributor

When the fountain is dry

We may whither

We may curse

We swear and storm out

We howl at our enemy

Spray his home with bullets

He is not there


Set his land aflame

Because we are an empire

He is but a man


There are six bullets in this gun

If five hit his daughters

If one hits him

We will surely be satisfied


We are nothing if we are not the enemy of our enemy

They fit their profile

We will fit ours

It shall be so white

It shall be so black