Intonation & Atonement – With Seeds of Revolution
That’s the trick. That’s the hope. That if they march enough boots down Main Street, if they park enough tanks beside the grocery store, if they let the hum of helicopters become our city’s lullaby—
we’ll stop noticing.
But here’s the truth:
We exist in a timeline where our very actions will be read about a hundred years from now.
This is our Fall of Rome.
This is our Reichstagbrand.
The question is, will we be remembered as the citizens who shrugged, who turned away, who mistook familiarity for safety—
or as the ones who saw the fire coming and dared to sound the alarm?
Because every little thing we do—
every act of kindness, every word of defiance, every refusal to be numbed—
is like a seed sown into the soil of tomorrow.
And those seeds will not stay buried. They grow.
They push through concrete.
They turn into the harvest of revolution.
And in the hallowed halls,
designed and built by people bound in chains,
there are still whispers of treachery.
Not by torchlight, not in secret caves,
but over late-night pizza and Diet Coke.
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