Oh hope-filled mortician and variegated smoker
Dead-end road runner on legs of clay pigeon
honest politician or fire engine stoker
Wing clipped hirsute protester on soapbox religion
Starving obesity with lips dripping hollowed-out laughter
Sea-sick fisherman on the brink of planetary extinction
Shipwrecked aquarium attendant on the lip of hereafter
Lords and ladies with faces of dubious distinction
Anti-establishment disgruntled pulpit basher
Words strung flashing the murderous headlines
Friendly fire neighbourhood conscience washer
Ears for the princess of anti-personnel mines
For that that which you wish for so very fervently hard
Or would have yourself doubtless unquestioningly believe
That the pursuit of money is the marked and malicious card
Secreted yet in the politicians unaccountable sleeve
Or that the contract you blindly and confidently enter
With your heart but forgetting the mind to engage
Is piece that is taken from the sweet doughnut centre
lining the pockets handmade for the master of the monopoly age
Oh you princes, you slaves to the wage and the inevitable tumbling markets
Oppressed by your own hand in the grinding gears of the debt machine
Stumbling to find what lies in the gutter where you yesterday parked it
And tomorrow will demand your demotion to the one designated to clean
It doesn’t matter a mind, a minute dimension that refuses to oil the wheel
Padded for comfort designer designed and central bank approved
So that it squeaks through the night when you have no intention to feel
The awful and nagging regret that you keep in a lifetime once removed
Dead-end road runner on legs of clay pigeon
honest politician or fire engine stoker
Wing clipped hirsute protester on soapbox religion
Starving obesity with lips dripping hollowed-out laughter
Sea-sick fisherman on the brink of planetary extinction
Shipwrecked aquarium attendant on the lip of hereafter
Lords and ladies with faces of dubious distinction
Anti-establishment disgruntled pulpit basher
Words strung flashing the murderous headlines
Friendly fire neighbourhood conscience washer
Ears for the princess of anti-personnel mines
For that that which you wish for so very fervently hard
Or would have yourself doubtless unquestioningly believe
That the pursuit of money is the marked and malicious card
Secreted yet in the politicians unaccountable sleeve
Or that the contract you blindly and confidently enter
With your heart but forgetting the mind to engage
Is piece that is taken from the sweet doughnut centre
lining the pockets handmade for the master of the monopoly age
Oh you princes, you slaves to the wage and the inevitable tumbling markets
Oppressed by your own hand in the grinding gears of the debt machine
Stumbling to find what lies in the gutter where you yesterday parked it
And tomorrow will demand your demotion to the one designated to clean
It doesn’t matter a mind, a minute dimension that refuses to oil the wheel
Padded for comfort designer designed and central bank approved
So that it squeaks through the night when you have no intention to feel
The awful and nagging regret that you keep in a lifetime once removed
September 2007
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