The Fruits of Destruction

The creatures who rule us play hard
They mean to keep what they have
anyway they can
happily holding a pistol called war
to our heads
with a pitchfork of starvation
prodding our guts
and a year from now a new pandemic
to strangle our throats with dread
Lizards don't think like us
they only know the cold dollar logic
that drove them from their own dying world
the mantra of greed
that pushes them on to the next
When we slaves on Earth
have done our worst at their behest
they will harvest the fruits of destruction
and leave--
our children may as well be dead
If I had a grave to turn in
I would