The artists are leaving

And the hills don’t make a sound

Nobody runs

And nobody cares

At least as I look around

You see, when the social colonizing commenced

We were distracted with our crowns

We thought we would always have a place here

After all, what is society without the voice of the creative

But when we weren’t looking

And while we sold out

They watered us down

They neutered our vitality

And disrespected the legacies we forgot to teach

While we played with our crowns.

Maya says our guilt lies in not screaming loud

While we were distracted with our crowns

The artists have been banished

And the hills don’t make a sound.