Whose cliches ring like sand dropped on a beach

Oh,people whose dead words obscure our pain
Whose cliches ring like sand dropped on a beach
We  know well  your agenda’s not our aim

Cliches make your speech robotic ,maimed
Yet you cling to others  like a  leach
Oh,people whose dead words obscure our pain

As you are inattentive to the lame
So to the spies, dead letters you will teach
We  know well  your agenda’s not our aim

Wittgenstein said  that language is a game
We need not be imprisoned in a niche
Oh,people whose dead words obscure  again

Do not spread your fog on matters plain
We can use  expression to enrich
We  curse  your dark agenda and its aims

To  people their own language is a crutch
But self direction,instinct ,matter much
Oh,people whose dead words obscure,  defame
We  know well  your agenda, and its  crimes