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democracy wakes with a noose around its neck;
the hands of westminster clamouring for checks

the will of the people, we are told, the will of the people
as if we are to blame for constructing this unequal equal

we did not draw the borders or construct the maze
we did not choose the weapon or bring forward the date

they frame it as a choice, but it's tactics, cleverly devised,
we put a cross by the third name, putting our values aside

a voice is never equal; sometimes a whisper, sometimes a shout,
we may outweigh the blue with numbers but never outright

a routine execution somewhere we're convinced we belong
how can this be when we keep finding ourselves hung?