Break off just a little piece of me,
to try, to taste.
To feel, to smell before you eat it.
Take off a portion of me to display,
display me as a trophy.
And when my usefulness comes to an end,
drop me and kick me away.
Hide me under your bed,
put me into a box, like a doll, to be forgotten.
Do this, and be like them.
Turn the person you displayed so proudly into a dusted has-been,
and make the revolutionary a war-crimnial.
Take time not to be with me, but to reflect on me.
To look at me as the man that tried to do,
and not the man that did.
Why should the life of such a man,
be in the palm of one fool's hand?