Marco Antonio (El Gringo)

Faded Dreams

crimson waves wash ashore, just like before
decadence drowning all aspiration
the elite not even wet, keeps its lore
contemplating nation against nation
still their thirst unquenched, they hunger for more


forlorn masses exposed to searing rain
no more concern for their offspring that weep
posterity will endeavor worse pain
while the opulent turn away and sleep
tomorrow their remorse may be in vain


all the words have already been written
perhaps in time they will also be read
bodies dead - but their hands still try to clasp
the elusive dream that already fled


Marco '95

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