Words of Mass Detritus

I understand we earthlings
seek order amongst things.
An analogy with ants ~
their mother wears the pants,
yet nothing parasitic
clips her subjects’ ticket.

Her warriors die in battle,
not like docile cattle.
Falling for a social nest ~
not some pointless quest,
like double-you-em-dees
not hidden overseas.

A faceless nation employs
children... it then deploys
with guns in hands to arid lands,
where blood stains sun-baked sands
shaded by whose banner, oh queen?
who lives a life so serene.

With soldiers to secure your soil,
leeching off the workers toil.
trusting to an aged tradition
of using fear to condition.
The cattles contributions clipped,
all clip evaders whipped!

‘But everyone’s the same’
we hear, ‘it’s a numbers game.’
We’re not fucking ants
or homicidal sycophants!
Okay, let’s play by the rules,
but not those writ by fools.