Graffiti in the District of the Street of Brands

Your losses are regrettable
But necessary
Fodder for the machine
Sustenance for the beast
A feast
You are the quiet
The accepting
You watched when they
Tore down the walls of your city
Brick by brick
The bourgeois apologist
The landed defiler
All filed past you
Where was your anger?
Where was your fucking pride?
Rise.
Do not allow them the satisfaction
Of a contrite reply
For each eye an eye
For each tooth a tooth
Have you no venom?
The ruthless
The blasphemous
The famished tarsks of progress
Rut right through you
Brothers of low status
They come right at us
Torches lit
Blades at the ready
Steady
If you haven’t a voice

There is no need to fight