The Roar of the Masses Could Be Farts - Minutemen

Soft and understanding eyes of the young

Moving with abandon atop the green lawns

Malleable as luck allows faking all the ties

Forced out in time

These expressions met

Improvised inventions

Lost in the way

Absolute the course

Which instinct betrays

Grinding in reversal

Outdo til done

Proper naked self

Solutions surround

In brightness be it real

Blinded and free

Pastel gems hit

Pearlesque in flaw

Spark of the instant

Challenging the time

View the observer’s

Plagiarizing hands