The canvas of society
Is blown by the furies of the populace
As we sail the oceanic void of existence.

The passions push as we run downwind,
The bullets fly as we reach,
And the renegades howl as we close haul.

Without the revolutionaries we’d be in irons,
And most times the dangerous blowhards
Fly through the sail to die parched alone.

And yet I cannot help but fear
The storms that blow over our bow
Shall wreck us this time.

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