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I look outside and the rain batters down
Knowing soon that the grey clouds will part with the town
And the sun’ll start blazing when it comes back around
Sucking the puddles into the sky for another round
It’s pouring on a culture which is repeating
And retreating up into its guts
Forcing our imaginations into a rut
Making them steadily simmer instead of erupt
A corrupt system of arts
We’re not encouraged at the start
Told that all the great ideas that come from the heart
Have all been used
When I know for a fact they’ve been exploited and abused
Cut to: a film production meeting, and the world’s gone beserk
As they just seem interested in doing less work
“We need some new ideas”
“How about instead of having new ideas, we just remake a load of South East Asian horror films?”
“Brilliant. Rest of the day off”
It’s a fucking ruse
Cheating us out of our ambition
A mission to slow fission and break us into submission
Because when minds have nowhere to roll
My soul, brain, blood and guts start to boil
Under the royal culture raping that makes us all meek
Made worse by clubs like Favela Chic
Shanty towns with open sewers
Below the poverty line
Are transformed into a drunk factory line
Where the privileged can wine and dine
And avoid the world’s troubles
In a bubble of trendy beats
And clueless rhythmic feet
If it’s gotta be this way
At least have the balls to go all the way
You might call this is too far
But how about: Auschwitz Bar
Where you can be spoilt and pampered
To get the real experience of a concentration camper
Bouncers are dressed as SS guards
And there’s buy one get one free Hasidic hats at the bar
But they’ll never do this
They’ll consider it too rotten
Probably cos favela’s aren’t in the news as often
It’s like spraying our eyes with mace
Blinding our choices
Forcing cling film over our face
Suffocating our voices
Until we’re just a wasting copy of a copy of a copy
Wearing a remembrance poppy
Because it’s polite and a nice shade of red
Rather than to remember the plight of so many wasted dead
And when Catherine Tate features Tony Blair
And Coco The Eaton Clown is Londontown’s mayor
You know that irony is keeping us in line
And what we need is a little honesty from time to time
For more: http://www.myspace.com/captainoftherantpoetry
Is anyone organising?
The trees of our youth bear no innocence; no fruits
Of our labours, no seeds of truth,
Just an everlasting shadow of discontent,
Darkening what was once light...what was once beautiful.
We cannot dare to dream for fear of failure, so we concede
To live in mediocrity, in “safety.”
Tell me, what is really safe? What is the point
In having a brain, a heart... a soul
If we cannot use them to be who we are destined to be?
Cracking like the rocks underneath the sea, melting
Like a glacier..
Like a vulture searching this desert, searching for something exciting
Something visceral and passionate; slowly but surely fading away
Into the beyond.
We are the future, the beacon of apathy, the rallying cry of disenchantment.
Who will break out?
Who will discover what it truly means to be young and powerful?
Who will be the first to let the wind in our hair, to let love in our hearts?
Who will answer the calls of our fore fathers? The ones who dared to dream
For us to have these freedoms, these beautiful freedoms
That leave us with all the options but none of the wisdom to appreciate
The fact that it is up to us.
We are the future, whether we choose to believe it or not.