They asked us to build
An island to build a base to
Build a gun on
They asked us to build
An island to build a town on
To get blown up
They got us to build these
Far from home
On the other side of the planet
An impossible task
Taking miles of man hours
And costing an aeon of money
We spent our time
Breaking the codes of the atom
Building the biggest
The wildest, the newest
Securing our seat
At the side of the mighty
Wasting our atmosphere
Nuking the air
That no further threats
Standard background sound radiation
perforating your life with hum
No screaming panic
Nor muted fear
Your lucky ears, in safe warm heads
Your fucking lucky ears
And in some world –
not far enough away from here –
Built of a soundscape you may not bear
Our brothers and mothers
Tune in daily
To that other mess
The daily execution
of sheer abhorrent sounds
A torrent of noise
but it’s not their fault!
steeling the screen
with silver-tongued tales
rattle at minds…
To furnish the soul?
A hundred times and more a day
A thousand radio waves
To a million open eyes
Each simply charmed by charming ways!
David says all information
is great for building a common nation.
So he’s pleased to see this fairy notion,
is backed by newsreel allegations:
That ministers’ – leading the restoration –
weigh heavy in fear
of mass publication!
So gleefully mass ignorance
is fed and bloated by conglomerates
Sealed with affection
and cooked – till black
then hid away!
On the streets,
on these sleepy streets
Chat is rife with the tales they tell
our TV’s, monitors, papers are full
of well written tales –
They tell them so well.
Can’t get enough of that magic you do!
Stocks are broke
Oil’s all down the drain
you too get the feeling you’re here once again?
Standby – hold tight –
We’ll shoot when it’s time
wait for the clamour of bangs on the line.
Here’s the latest
We’ve forgiven Iran
The Soviets too.
Out of their madness and out of their heads
Our greatest have failed
to lead us to death.
You’re not due yet
There’s time to drop bombs
Our gods hedging his bets
Stately you wait on
The pride of good taste
Please be in no hurry
to rush with the race.
Hey pink fingers
Long on your hand
Do these fingers of fortune
grasp the plan; understand?
Digits of the damned
there’s a reason your curl
closes in on the hand.
The wrath you unravel
your points start.
The same ‘why?’
That placed you so far from our heart.
On the other hand though
’tis sweet caress in your palm.
How can this pink bearer
still action such harm?
As hate leads the pointing
and love guides the strokes
is this balance of power?
At least with 10 choices
your options are broad
With five left for teasing
You’ve five for the sword!
Injections of objective retention,
recondite, a bile-like-ripe lifer.
Can profane living
give rise to oblivion?
Give re-issuing license to losers?
Outstanding, derivative pleasurer
found lighting the end of a fuse:
Warnings abounded about her
moreover land closed in around her!
Still silence in mind,
expletives well timed,
I’d rather live lightly than longer…
A moaning most maudlin disgruntler
caught slinking and loudly around me.
These sorry sad Sinbads,
these bored boring bastards.
All fellow food-fighters forever!
At the edge of the world,
Where only power and influence survive.
The ‘greatest’ of men collide.
Teasing nuclear envelopes
The way kids round our way, tease creepy-crawlies.
And just as this mighty cloud of wealth teeters on the brink…
A loud voice, deep in the midst of our crowd,
Remembered the bosom
(the soft cosy curve of sweet breast) out loud.
You’ll never believe that one shout saved the world!
Or rescued our leaders
From their throw-away plot
To blow us all up,
But you’ll have to believe that it’s true.
And as she shouted again, I’ll tell you –
So sudden this rage and shame fell
Like a shroud
As each nutter revisited
Memories of real warmth
Clarity arrives, in from the rain
just as the nurse jabs a prominent vein.
Glibly you joke on the weight of the rain
and quietly – in solitude and briefly –
you’re allowed to reflect on the weight in those veins.
Coolly these fabulous drugs run their course.
Deeply they permeate down to the cause.
Gooey and caustic, all reaching of course,
by killing you slowly – from inside and minutely –
the medics explain that they’re killing the cause.
Just as the last drops of drip flow within
I’m drawn to the bruise that remains on a skin.
To ponder the reason and drive that’s within,
where to find a direction – and place to direct
the future of you, once clean to the skin.