Give me your tired, your poor,Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these,the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door hiding the criminal legality of letting of you rot .Because I got mine and soon what you have will be divided across the line of vultures
the gleaming of red,white.and blues that flies for the chosen few and blind fleecing the blind
This golden lamp shines bright but not for you dying at the hands of the church,the steeple…open the doors and see the corporations that are people
Lady Liberty is the yeti of NY harbour ,everyone swears they have seen it but liberty is no where to be found
Go hunt through the concrete wilderness and see what you find because too many are still looking
Better luck catching a Harry and all the Hendersons panhandling in union square just so they don’t have to eat their pet


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