Freedom is a commodity
Stashed in the aisles
of marketing files
amid the smug little smiles
of MBA whiz kids

You wonder why things don't get better
you sit at your desk writing your letters
while stashed somewhere in your IRA
is the answer to what's wrong today

While all your brave daughters and sons
spend solitary nights bunked with guns
somewhere in a bastioned tower
the chieftans wait for cocktail hour

Freedom is a contradiction
Slashed, bloodied and broken
The revered words as spoken
have devolved into a token
of power for the robber kings