A polemic...

The end of crime is nigh
the end of social degradation has past.
The end of 'what can I get.'

Her voice sings deep within my soul,
though troubled men get in the way.

A war that I did not want,
is now on telly 24 hours a day.
Stories of story makers
incidentally caught in the savagery.

The will to survive.

And retreat to caves
With minds painted upon the walls
Neon lights, instead of fire
An orgy of rhythm and drum beat.
Flashes
Lightening like thoughts
The cavernous high.

The Party MUST go on.
The Bush is now burning!

And we must rise as one,
to force our ferocity
upon our choices, our freedoms.

This does not include violence.

The power of our individualism
is our weapon.
Our actions are money.
Our money fights wars.

Days have darkened
I feel life and death.

The Bush is psychotic.
The highest rate in any State,
To pass judgement
At such a spate,
'What life? I'm sorry folks.'
Spouting such bible redemption,
That crosses are burnt

And any who bare one.

I am sickened at the state of democracy.
Whose seen two millions marchers for War?
Whose heard of the vote that gets the least, wins ?
Can anybody shoot?

So you see money wages war.
Money.
I say @!#$ the demand,
The million or so barrels a day.
Change the demand!

Ah, sweet music powered by sunlight,
Oxygen supplied by trees,
A horse to speed you to work.
Whose manure is scavenged upon
By clever machines, whisking it off to feed to the trees.

The Bush is burning.

Tuck yourself close,
For I've just lit a fire.
Come and listen to some tunes
And regale tails.

We are a conscious species,
So lets use our conscience .
Our Armies have always been procured
Let us use our contract of hire,

"THE MANAGMENT HAS THE RIGHT TO SAY NO!"

When you write something, it tends to become so...

23 March 2003.