Daily Archives: August 23, 2010

The Voice of the People

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Lord of your world

No rain falls when I’m all alone
I control the seas; I control the skies
No clouds form when I feel forlorn
I control the wind; I control the sun
I am the lord of my world
And my world is dry

I walk the streets covered in plastic sheets
People see me and can’t understand why I smile
I’ve got no bills to pay, no debts to agonize me
I control the famine; I control the profusion of my land
I am the lord of my world
And my world is bountiful

No mountain is too high and if it were I would buy my way over it
No love is too expensive, no friendship too luxurious
I pay all my bills and I embezzle all of yours
I’ve always got something to hide, but what I just won’t tell
I am the lord of my world
And my world is built on fraud

You control your sun; you control your rain
You decide when you’re satisfied
You choose when it’s time for your seasons to change
You control the deprivation; you control the plethora
You are the lord of your world
And your world is what you make it


Autumn

The chill of autumn vilifies me
The virus it sends plagues my body
Welcome to the new season
Death paints the trees in beauty and the world in black

O’ autumn, you gather the birds and take them away
You assemble the trees and then strip them bare
You master your art of discoloration on our lawns
You turn smooth nostrils into chapped crevices

Why, o’ season of cold beauty, do you belittle us like this?
Your moon lights the way to another day
Another day of misted car windows and raking of leaves
Death paints our streets with the victims of your assemblage

Demise paves the way to isolation
Isolation paves the way to spring
Spring: autumn’s grand finale
Another season, another defamation of my good health


Thoughts of an old lady at a music shop

I feel like a sad song
A song that continues for a long time
A song that taps into my heart
A song that can relate and put a feeling to words
I feel like a song about my life

I am a victim


Make your mind up

You walk the streets nightly
Looking for that woman
You see her face and start fumbling in your pockets
She promises you a good time
It’s the sort of attention that you’ve ‘needed’
She calls you by name, you know her through fame
You pull in as someone pulls out
Wipe yourself off and go home to your wife

Make your mind up
What are you living for?

You go home and beat your wife
Blood stains the carpets, the ceilings and the walls
Pans fly across each room, words sweep away more than a broom
She lies on the tiles emotionally and physically afflicted
She weeps as you force her to wash away the blood
In the morning she plasters on her make up
As you start to uniform up and leave for work
Work – you fight for women’s rights

Make your mind up
What are you living for?

You’re a big preacher man, head of a congregation
You preach the word, discouraging a jilted frame of mind
Sermon finished, you go home
Ignite a spliff, enlighten your mind
Cough up your lungs till your eyes go blind
You façade a clean slate
And when next Sunday comes round
You damn other people to the underground

Make your mind up
What are you living for?