Hate

Falling three feet to the ground
Facedown on the cold floor
Of a well-oiled SF pigsty
I met my one true love

Feel youth crushed somewhere
Between concrete and boot
Another victim of the lower hate

You are not my god
You are not my god

You think this is funny, don't you, pig?
Beneath our state-sanctioned soles
But what is he laughing at?

There was nothing padded
About a wagon full of mace
Rotator cuff hyperextends behind my back
Ribs cracking beneath a rain of sticks and heels
Falling down like the rain outside

Oh, yeah, bitch, I'm gonna remember
Your face, your name, your number
And when I crawl out of this hole
I'm going to make you all mine
Auschwitz, Kent State
Chi Town, '68
Tiananmen, Waco