Let’s make history, you and me.
Yeh, let’s make history, you and me.
Bringing Peace to the world of the free.
Spreading Love all round the globe,
From greatest whale to tiniest microbe.

Let’s make history you and me.
Ain’t no time for a cuppa tea.
But later we’ll have a jamboree.

Let’s make history you and me.
The world’s in a mess, everyone can see.
So many people, so much hate.
We gotta give ‘em a better fate.

Forget religion, forget your race.
Forget your nation, accept God’s Grace.
Come up and join us, let’s have a ball,
With or without some Alcohol.

The Beatles tried this, yes we know,
But that don’t mean we gotta give in.
You can always say I told you so,
Until that Goodness overcomes Sin.

We must keep trying, that’s all we say.
So let’s make history on this fine day.

Paul Butters

I write letters to people who
do not speak to me as
often as their name screams in
my mind full of words.

I will drag my knife along your skin,
sharp blade down into your fragile, shaking canvas,
incising an increasing beat of whimpers and whines.
Please hold still. I promise this will hurt.

I will expose your clattering bones,
rip out your chattering teeth,
erase every impugned utterance
you muttered against me.
I will carve my letters slowly
on your unzipped frame,
sliding the burgundy blood across to
blot
       clot
              dot.    

This is only preparation for what is about to follow.

I will puncture your throbbing organs,
slash your stretched cartilage
with an unwritten script.
Before I press further,
I’ll assure you, you are still alive.

I will twist each phrase,
haunt you to believe it is your fault,
force you to beg the slightest escape.
I will permanently etch my name
deep in the frozen chambers
of your quivering heart.

I will open up the blueprint as a demolition expert,
remove whole fractions of your fractured soul,
leave you a horrid wreck in the abyss
of a mess you just made.

You will not get rid of me,
though no trace of evidence is left behind.

My hands have been clean from the start.

Lack-luster, in dull
Clusters, tall pylons reign with
Gods that look like you.