A piece on peace

I have spiderwebs interlacing the thoughts I speak
with the thoughts I keep,
I stayed locked down,
like a basket case, with no place left to weave.
Life hurts, like a knife upon knife showdown,
grazing my shielded temper,
if it gets much worse,
I know I'm bound to blow.
But I've never claimed to be peace and love,
No I've never branded myself.
I understand in the blood of the battle,
I'd be the first to admit that.
I see people, dressed in colors
they don't even know how to represent.
Outlandish designs from "peaceful" times,
you carve the sign upon your wrists,
and highlight it with dark ink-
your ignorance of the word
becomes permanent and apparent.
At least I can know then,
you have no idea where to start,
because all of you liars
are the ones that need to wear it.
But the peaceful ones, the realistic and the wise?
We just speak honestly,
it's in our blood, it's bold and clear-
in moments declared useless,
in moments declared dark.
A worldwide sign,
murdered, and robbed of all meaning.
Yes, the peace signs, they shine like fresh bruises,
on every single one of you,
marching in the wrong line,
hitting that pipe,
burning the pages of a bible in a fresh spun joint.
warning: "Hello, I'm wounded."
you kids are so transparent,
watch it glisten like condensation after the heat of the moment,
when you've punched a kid,
for being
not quite as good as you.
High and mighty,
you're sure to be seen
throwing up the peace sign,
and peace the fuck out.
And still you sit there
and tell me that this was what John Lennon was talking about?
Argue and fight for rights
you only came to understand after "across the universe" came out.
You fake ass hippies,
with your fake ass minds.
Unravel those dreads,
take some pressure off that brain, because
This is a piece on peace,
a revolution for those truly asleep.