Revolution Unheard

In this Starbucks, where coffee's just a cover,
The revolution's music, but the message never moves her.
The workers’ drag; old soles shuffle with red rimmed sleep,
Boxes exposed, prepping for the day’s keep.

The morning’s start, a heavy beat, a call to arms,
But the fringe just seek peace from dark streets’ harms.
Housewives line up, their best clothes on display,
Talking about the latest drive, the best way to play.

The beat changes, but the message stays the same,
A revolution in sound, but nothing ever remains.
We sip our lattes, eyes on phones, fingers typing fast,
And think we're making a difference, while the world moves past.

A shift in the mood, ‘Cry Me a River’ starts to play,
The aptness, so on the nose, makes my day.
This day beats on, singing of aggression,
Just like every other day born of oppression.