Never take your eyes off your opponent, even when you bow.

Between kissed lips and fists clenched we sit.
Drenched in the sweat brought upon us by the weight of the world around us.
The weight of things we know not of but we still hoist heartily like the protest signs of the seventies children.
Back when people stood for something more than themselves.
Back when repeated words spread like a wildfire game of telephone between kindergarten-aged children.
The message is still there, just muddled by the shining lights of the cities.
We can not stand for this.
We can not stand by, ignorant, A small voice echoing between the blankets and dirty sheets of modern politics.