War Horns Sound in Empty Rooms

Have you ever heard the horns of war
in the clock ticking on a blank wall?
In an empty room, save one more:
a messenger of bureaucracy's gall.

Eviction's at my doorstep,
I applied for assistance.
System's broke and limping,
help is at a distance.

I ask the weighted question:
"do I have legal protection?"
She's tired, weary of the pain she sees.
Now she sees me, my turn to be told
"Not that I'm aware of," she cajoled.
She's kind, gives me leads...
but she has done more;
she has sounded the horn of war.

A rattle to my core, rage reverberates;
fractures from the quake propagate
drawing the lines in the sand.
I know where I stand,
and so does she.
She's on the same side as me.

Class is a concept far away
until we are drug underneath.
Under currency's boot we splay
now it's time to show our teeth.

My army is scattered, troops weary
moral is worse than uneasy.
We are frightened, but together
We are in pain, but together
We have lost, but together...

Together, we can wage war.