Putting the world to rights... Trying to make sense of things that don't... Mellowing with experience... Learning apathy... Getting back into writing after a few years away.
I wanna be loved by all, I wanna be free, I wanna be somebody, Anybody but me. Live in grace, Live in disgrace, Live in my embrace, It don't matter to me. ---- Reflected in my beer A face appears That I haven't seen in years. Says he's just had his heart broke, So I offer him a smoke And an attempt at a joke. Through ambient amber hazes We discussed the settled dust And how we'd performed on our seperate stages. How he'd backflipped Into a basket, That became a funeral casket. I sat opposite And bit my lip, 'Don't look at me for love advice mate, I'm shit!' But if there's one thing I would say, It might not take your demons away But it could save you from future dismay. Love's just a word, A negotiable term, Rarely spoken the same as it's heard. A word, with a millions ways to be read So be careful where you tred, Cos what you hear isn't always what's said! ----- It’s not the same for banksters, The real gangsters, Never wind up in handcuffs. Behind scandals, there’s board rooms, And JP Morgan goons, That don’t care if you choke on the fumes, Of their cooperate joyriding, As long as you keep abiding, By standards they’d never live by, Like eating a steak pie, That’s 99 per cent horse and 1 per cent fly! It’s one of the signs of a hidden depression, Like packet size compression And watered down medicine. They paint pictures to make it look good, Unemployment isn’t down, just more made homeless this month. The gangster's in his country club, Teeing off with Obama and Tiger Woods They shake hands and it’s understood, Who’s in charge, It’s the Barclay's barrage That manipulate LIBOR and don’t face charge. There’s no capitalism when you bail out the corrupt, A real capitalist system would let them all go bust. They tie their debt to the state, Create money with no interest rate, Whilst there’s 1000 per cent loans for the desperate Electorate stuck on the dole Banksters offer you credit it starts digging a hole That becomes the grave for your financial soul. They’re like drug dealers that prey on the weak, But they never do time, their crimes are in the paper for barely a week, And they speak of reform. They say capitalism’s a pie, get some, But it’s been rehypothecated a million times, in a hedgefund, So now it’s worthless to my eye, You can’t satisfy a million promises for a pie, with one pie, And it’s the same with the gold supply. Banksters print money out of nothing And try to convince you it’s worth something. There’s nothing wrong with business and enterprise, But when cooperations can put drones in the skies, Over Pakistan and Iran, using their allies. The MPs and lords used to be banksters, Living off our democracy, like cancers, Look at their history and balance sheets for answers. The financial dissenter, Is more important than the Sure Start centre. And that’s not their only crimes, They have blood on their hands from all the times, They started wars to promote their own kind. They call it installing democracy, But it comes as a shock to me, That it involves them gaining monopoly Over natural resources, So they can fly from private islands to golf courses. And there’s more than this, They shackle us to their apocalypse, With a serpent twist, When financial terror leads to the slit wrists, Of people like you and me, whose faces were once kissed, Like you and me, who have families, and will be missed, Like you and me, from Glasgow to Greece Suicide over finance spreads like a disease. It’s not until you see the cloak and lift it, Until you read the credits, you learn who scripts it, That you can find the tools to fix it. Because real gangsters don’t patrol blocks, Although they do control the cocaine cooked into crack rock, And those that betray them still get shot. It doesn’t get shown on TV a lot, that’s no surprise, They own the media’s stock, and run it’s money supply. It’s the families of Rothschild and Rockefeller, You’ll never see them and Satan together, ‘Cos they’re basically the same fella, To Foxconn factory fodder in China, that make the iPhone, Where they have suicide nets, to catch those that’d rather die alone, Than live in shackles in a militarised zone. We’re led to believe this is necessary for our petty luxury, But that fact it’s not us in those factories, seems nothing more than luck to me. No human rights for those few But one day the few might include you, Gangsters care for their 1 per cent, if only you knew, And put their crimes on the same page, As those committed by crooks and armed rampage, Maybe we could move into a better age. Lock up the dealers, with their corrupt sterling and dollar, And the banksters that commit financial slaughter.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Sitting beside the sea (15/04/2017)
When Obama goes to bed (18/05/2013)
Stop the cuts (26/04/2013)
It's easier not to love (31/03/2013)
Support the troops (24/03/2013)
Free Shaker Aamer (20/03/2013)
One for the couple at the back (17/03/2013)
Lack of information is obscene and cronic (04/11/2012)
I'm from a land where (04/11/2012)
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Wednesday 01 March 2017
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