I'm haunted by the ghost of a young Bob Dylan,
followed by William Blake, beating a prophetic rhythm.
I'm a fraud, a flake, exposed in Plath's diary -
Maya Angelou has caged me, my song falling flatly.

But it's all crazy, all this neo-fascist **** lately.
I guess populism's got a catchy rhythm,
if your lazy,
then it's so much harder to love me or debate me
than hate me.
Now, let's dispose of this safely: you're racist

because, either your daddy was too,
or, you're manipulated by falsehoods masquerading as news
but it's true, now, even I'm getting confused,
but ask, who the **** wins? because you AND the immigrant lose.

This ****'s got polemic, pulled by extremist views,
taking the meanest cues,
we contravene abuse, on the daily.
It's all so ****** up lately.
I guess it's so much harder to love me than hate me.


But the day will come, I'll be classed as crazy, man,
already feeling like I'm William Blake's Grain of Sand,
Eternity in an hour, in the palm of my hand,
I see the white ******* walls in the back of the van.

Because they'll nab you from the streets, it's the master's plan,
until all that's left is sheep, the rest bottled and canned,
then, they'll sit inside their keep, every gun-post manned,
their delight, so sweet, but never to understand:

Heaven in a wildflower or the Endless Night,
a reason to die or a reason to fight.
In their sweet delight, they won't see the light,
But from the Endless Night, you & me just might

because each glimmer shines out in the darkest depth,
as Blake writes revenge from the realms of Death,
those protected on high, Nations that sell & buy,
can all be blown out by a baby's breath.


'Cause only the blood in a diamond means it's not worthless,
the value we imprint are just absurd curses.
We all know what's hidden there, under the surface,
so, who teaches us acceptance and what's it's purpose?

We're all in it together, we're all complicit,
our lives connected by this something illicit.
Adopted by the collective notion, we choose to forgive it
and perpetuate it's frameworks, instead of letting them diminish.

Alright, let's have a break. Drink some response a bil i tea,
marinate in what's around us and all the things we neglect to see.
Where have we been looking and why do we think we're free?
Calm down and carry on? **** na, that aint me!

But in revolution, don't we just come back to the beginning?
Spinnin' round and round, in a ******' hellfire rythmn;
it's enough to leave you questioning each and all decisions,
or, just **** it all, sit back and watch the visions.


Like a pig to thunder: all big eyes and wonder -
As our world comes crashing down, ripped and torn asunder -
we won't get very far with all our property and plunder,
what would William say then, I wonder?

Some are born to Endless Night, but then, it all flies apart,
leaving my rhyming heart to aim and find it's mark.
It's my one sight of light in the deepest dark,
so, if you hold to me now, we just need a spark.

But it's all crazy, all this neo-fascist **** lately.
I guess populism's got a catchy rhythm,
if your lazy,
then it's so much harder to love me or debate me
than hate me.
Now, let's dispose of this safely: you're racist

because either your daddy was too
or you're manipulated by falsehoods masquerading as news
but it's true, now even I'm getting confused,
but ask, who the **** wins? because you AND the immigrant lose.

This ****'s got polemic, pulled by extremist views,
taking the meanest cues,
we contravene abuse, on the daily.
It's all so ****** up lately.
I guess it's so much harder to love me than hate me.

Then, the wicked beat breaks & it all flies apart
leaving my rhyming heart to aim and find it's mark -
it's my one sight of light in the deepest dark
'n' if ya hold to me now, we just need a spark.


The day will come, I'll be called crazy, man,
feeling like I'm William Blake's Grain of Sand,
Eternity in an hour, in the palm of my hand,
I see the white ******* walls in the back of the van.

We'll be nabbed from the streets, it's the master's plan,
'til all that's left is sheep, the rest bottled and canned,
then, they'll sit inside their keep, every gun-post manned,
their delight, so sweet, never to understand:

Heaven in a wildflower or the Endless Night,
a reason to die or a reason to fight.
In their sweet delight they won't see the light,
But in the Endless Night, you & me just might

because each glimmer shines out in the darkest depth,
as Blake writes revenge from the realms of Death,
those protected on high, Nations that sell & buy,
can all be blown out by a baby's breath.

It's all crazy, all this neo-fascist **** lately.
I guess populism's got a more catchy rhythm,
if your lazy,
then it's so much harder to love me or debate me
than hate me.
Now, let's dispose of this safely: you're racist

because either your daddy was too
or you're manipulated by falsehoods masquerading as news
but it's true, now even I'm getting confused,
but who actually wins? because you AND the immigrant lose.

This ****'s got polemic, pulled by extremist views,
taking the meanest cues,
we contravene abuse, on the daily.
It's all so ****** up lately.
I guess it's so much harder to love me than hate me.

Then, the wicked beat breaks & it all flies apart
leaving my rhyming heart to aim and find it's mark -
it's my one sight of light in the deepest dark
'n' if ya hold to me now, we just need a spark...

He slips on a dress,
looks in the mirror
to see the material clinging
to his contours
and embraces all the possibilities
that come to him.

The power is palpable
to this side no one sees -
himself - released,
exuding the best parts
of his character

Ready for an unready world.

Where's the rythmn,
The rythmn, the rhyme, the reason?
I feel it's all getting lost,
Much like the seasons.
Have we been overcome,
Punished, for some inharmonious treason?

I feel I'm cascading and fading,
Like a politicians integrity,
I mean,
**** knows just what depths we'll see,

as all the consequences show thier hands,
in scorched lands
& Floods...

Civilisations get buried in mud,
so what makes ours so special,
that we would escape the Earth's revolution?
Sit back, enjoy, The Grand Delusion

as the Earth just keeps on turning,
never learning,
burning              hot
Right from its core
              -it's experienced a lot
                       But never this before-
A species forever driven towards war,
to enslave,
to dictate
and who impose their will, by law..
Who imagine a window
just so they can slam the door.

What more        will it take?
As half the world is going to sleep,
the other wakes,
Sun, streaming through that window,
as the day breaks..