𝟕𝟏𝟎𝟕 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬

𝟕𝟏𝟎𝟕 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬

They call it a democracy,
but we know better.
This is a kingdom of kleptocrats,
where ballots are mere theater,
a ritual of fools blessing their robbers.

The throne does not change hands—
only faces, only masks.
Each election, a fresh puppet,
strings pulled by the same old hands.

The laws are ink on water.
Justice is a prostitute,
bought and sold in the dark rooms of Malacañang.
Truth is what the highest bidder says it is,
and history is rewritten at the price of silence.

The people’s sweat builds the towers,
but the elite drink the sky.
The workers labor,
but their wages are shadows.
The poor pray,
but their gods are deaf,
or perhaps,
already paid off.

But we know better.
This is not democracy.
This is theft,
disguised as a republic.
A masquerade of freedom,
while the thieves dine on gold plates,
and the nation starves on dreams.

Yet they say,
“Don’t rock the boat.
Be grateful. Keep quiet. Move on.”

But how do we move
when our feet are shackled?
How do we breathe
when the air is owned?
How do we dream
when even sleep has been stolen?

The only way forward
is to tear down the lies,
to unmask the puppets,
to shatter the illusion,
and make the thieves afraid
for the first time in their lives.

#RageAgainstTheMachine

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