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Not the other one I had written on AFF.

My best friend was an activist. He wasn't all that bad.
For he believed in what he did; it wasn't just a fad.
He started out a victim just like you and them and me,
then felt oppressed, distressed, depressed, and wished that we were free.
The actors and the bureaucrats got all of the attention.
My best friend never even got a single tiny mention.
He didn't mind, he didn't want, he didn't care at all.
His advice was simple: "Listen for God to call."
My best friend was an activist and didn't pay no rent.
But then he started camps... wasn't lazy... the time he spent!
He really threw himself on board, enjoying every bit.
Cuz my best friend was an activist. He didn't take no shit.
He always was the one we called when feeling violated. With him it was a two-way street; both were appreciated.
He loved his friends. He loved his God. He even loved his state.
The first time that he told me this I wondered what he'd ate.
At first when we got peppper-sprayed I got so mad at him.
Until he told me, "Look, do something, or our future's dim.
It's normal people who go out and protest for our rights.
Sometimes to be free we must get into a few fights."
It took a while to digest this, as I was raging mad.
I felt he was a stupid punk. I felt like I'd been had.
I got this funny feeling when it stopped. I got so stressed.
Cuz my best friend the activist knew what I knew and the rest.
I felt so angry, sad and scared, and so I went back out.
Those people educated me, erasing all my doubt.
I prayed to God the organizers wouldn't get arrested.
My best friend and his friends would surely have their knowledge tested.
I want police to know the truth, whatever the truth was.
But he was my best friend. So I protect him just because.
My best friend was an activist. He took a lot of crap.
The others made it seem like all he did was moan and yap.
They made him out to be a nut, a shithead and a whiner,
but started to respect him. "Not an asshole any finer!"
My best friend, who's an activist, just disappeared one day.
At first, since he was wanted, I thought he had run away.
But when he called, from who knows where, he knew that that was not.
He had been hitchhiking but had to hurry from that spot.
We knew that from then on he' have to write to us in code.
But there were wanted posters at the post office; we didn't know how that'd bode.
I never knew what happened to my best friend after that.
I don't know if he's still alive. I don't know where he's at.
All I know is that I cannot keep living a lie,
'cause my best friend was an activist. And now, well, so am I.
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