They pull the strings from afar and you
barely see their shadows.
Their whispered vowels are so silent,
yet their words are etched in your soul.
You never notice their magic act
And fail to notice you are part of the trick.
You hum their mantra to a steady tune
Regardless of the words they rhyme.
They speak of life truths with a jungle beat,
As you worship at their feet.
They spit and spin a fairy tale
While they weave a web of deceit.
The flashing lights and big city cars
Blind your eyes to their deceit.
You begin your march to their own drum,
Throwing your pennies at their feet.
The man with soul throws away his guitar,
And dances in the puddle of green.
It united our souls and ignited a change.
Our voices were heard and guitars were strung.
Our voices were lost and pennies were dropped.
The soul of the masses were pocket change to the
desires of one.
As time goes on, the charts rise up but where is
the sound of the soul?
The mantras you hum and the marches you step
are the sounds of one man’s ego.
Your step by step and your snapping tunes rose
from his goals.
As you lose your feet to the beat,
listen closely as you lose your soul to the unstrung guitar.