Oh it is far too easy to be angry,
To be young, unshrinking, and unafraid.
To march behind high banners and violent song,
And die a martyr for another’s crusade.
I watch young men, my age, breaking themselves
Like waves upon the shore, and I know
That there’s a better way to change this world:
Grow old in the halls of power, and learn the secrets kept below.
I will be that man who walks the silent corridors
Where old men send the young men out to die.
I will war with my pencil, strike with my pen,
Learn the truths that they want hid, unravel every lie.
And when I have grown old in the halls of power,
And the young men gather to bring me down,
I will look upon the world that I have wrought
And tell them, with a frown,
That this was how I changed the world: not with a bang, but a whisper.