Streets on Fire, Flags in Hand

A Republic in Rhythm While Power Plays the Beat

Early morning, Westlake—ICE rolls deep,
Flash raids sweep while the neighborhoods sleep.
Paramount trembling, workers detained,
Protests erupt, streets barely contained.
From warehouses to court steps, voices rise,
While freedom gets tear-gassed before our eyes.

Senators cuffed for standing near,
Journalists pushed back, message clear:
“No king here,” chants flood the zone,
But the air smells thick with pepper and stone.

This ain’t just a riot, it’s a warning bell,
When liberty stumbles, we all catch hell.
From city blocks to Capitol Hill,
The streets speak louder than executive will.

Trump in the limo, crown in his stare,
Marches the Guard like he’s already there.
Military parades roll through D.C.,
Like democracy’s hostage on live TV.

ICE vans unmarked, agents in black,
Borderlines blurred—no freedom track.
National Guard called, Marines on post,
Who's the enemy—citizens or ghosts?

Talk of sedition, labels thrown,
But this ain't fiction—it’s power overgrown.

Newsom steps in, calls for calm,
But the fed’s got fists, not an open palm.
AB48's violated at will,
Beanbags and flash-bangs fit for a kill.

“No King” signs wave in a crimson tide,
As the anthem strains where the people bide.
Do we still vote, or just obey?
Are we citizens—or in the way?

This ain’t just a riot, it’s a reckoning cry,
When law is a weapon, and truth walks shy.
From L.A. fire to Senate floor,
We the People ain’t subjects no more.

So what now, America—what’s the plan?
Will power crush voice or take our hand?
The streets remember what ballots miss:
A republic dies when we forget this.