The Planes of September
by Shelton F. Lankford
We all can remember the planes of September
How everything changed on that day.
The drama unfolded, the buildings exploded
And agents were spinning away
Creating a tale of the evil nineteen
And their sponsor who lives in a cave
With the artifacts placed at the scene of the crime
And a suitcase and will that were saved
By missing the flight that their owner was on
Though the manifests don’t show the names
Of the alleged miscreants who in Allah’s name
Caused so many to perish in flames.
Do you question the tale of the magic nineteen,
Those modern-day pirates who came
To partake of lap-dances and cocaine-fueled parties
Wreaking havoc in Mohammad’s name?
It’s written in stone now, the legend is frozen
It’s blessed by the powers that be.
Though it could not have happened the way that they said
To raise questions is rank heresy.
Some eight of the nineteen appear still alive
And Osama apparently perished
In December ‘01, never charged with the deed,
As a villian, his image is cherished
By those who desire all their subjects inert
And trembling in absolute fear.
And looking to leaders to preserve our lives
Now that terror and danger are near
Be afraid, be afraid, be very afraid,
We hear it again and again,
But is that the way that true free men behave?
Or should we not count it a sin?
To again see unspeakable crime covered up
And again see the guilty go free
A convenient scapegoat was ready again
Like November nineteen sixty three
The towers that fell on that September morn
Blew apart as not witnessed before
In a high-rise on fire, regardless the heat,
With explosions on every third floor
Just forget it, they say,
we must get on with life
We just cannot afford to look back
Then we march off to war using that as excuse
For conducting “preemptive” attack.
It’s a brand new “Pearl Harbor”, it sanctifies us
Even though our objective is oil,
Our resources grow scarce, and we cannot sustain
This lifestyle with what’s left in our soil.
So we murder and bomb and irradiate them
With projectiles of nuclear waste.
And we liberate them so that our corporations
Can buy up their assets with haste
How much of our souls have we bartered away
Our wasteful lifestyle to preserve?
Will we ever regain the respect that we’ve lost
For losing our collective nerve?
Permitting a drama played out in New York
And DC by men not who they seem
A false-flag operation that appears to exceed
All of PNAC’s extravagant dreams
Until we the people demand the whole truth
And accounting for deeds that were done.
We must share in the guilt that will never diminish
Until we see justice is done.
© Shelton F. Lankford