Let me go to war.
Let me go to war against all the odds,
Against all the ends
And everything that treads in between the grooves
And the cracks in the pavement.
Let me go to war for all that was lost in the fire
Or in the stewing **** of the flooded toilet.
Let me go to war against the loaded dice
And the big fella in his baseball cap
Shifting his fat on the stool,
Awaiting that certain hand that will feed his boy
And get head from his double-dealing wife.
Let me go to war against the ivory towers of hypocrisy
That is the church.
The breathless opulence of a rain soaked cathedral
And the poverty of righteousness
Found in every leap from scripture
And every hungry soul.
In every forgotten feminist.
And still the Pope stands in his robes twined with gold,
Claiming to feed the world.
Oh please, let me slit the throats
Of every person who scoffs at the teenager cutting his wrists,
Or at the old couple fading to grey in a world of multi-coloured ****
Let me begin the culling
Of those who undermine The Beatles
And all other music
By turning it into another cash cow
And for those that stand with their cameras,
So desperate to chronicle this experience,
That they forget to experience.
And finally, let me go to war.
Let me go to war with myself
For being too quick to judge
And assuming I am the arbiter of fairness
And where the ashtray should sit on the table.
Let me go to war with the demons that fester in my brain
And scratch on the walls of my mind when I try to sleep
And rattle their cages every time I step into a new world.
Let me go to war so that on my deathbed,
My last thought isn’t this:
That for all the money I had made,
For all the times I had got laid,
And even the times I had got high
That I didn’t let those opportunities go by
Where I could just sit in the dark of an October dawn
And watch the rise of the morning sun.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 3:33 PM UTC
Let me go to war.
Let me go to war against all the odds,
Against all the ends
And everything that treads in between the grooves
And the cracks in the pavement.
Let me go to war for all that was lost in the fire
Or in the stewing **** of the flooded toilet.
Let me go to war against the loaded dice
And the big fella in his baseball cap
Shifting his fat on the stool,
Awaiting that certain hand that will feed his boy
And get head from his double-dealing wife.
Let me go to war against the ivory towers of hypocrisy
That is the church.
The breathless opulence of a rain soaked cathedral
And the poverty of righteousness
Found in every leap from scripture
And every hungry soul.
In every forgotten feminist.
And still the Pope stands in his robes twined with gold,
Claiming to feed the world.
Oh please, let me slit the throats
Of every person who scoffs at the teenager cutting his wrists,
Or at the old couple fading to grey in a world of multi-coloured ****
Let me begin the culling
Of those who undermine The Beatles
And all other music
By turning it into another cash cow
And for those that stand with their cameras,
So desperate to chronicle this experience,
That they forget to experience.
And finally, let me go to war.
Let me go to war with myself
For being too quick to judge
And assuming I am the arbiter of fairness
And where the ashtray should sit on the table.
Let me go to war with the demons that fester in my brain
And scratch on the walls of my mind when I try to sleep
And rattle their cages every time I step into a new world.
Let me go to war so that on my deathbed,
My last thought isn’t this:
That for all the money I had made,
For all the times I had got laid,
And even the times I had got high
That I didn’t let those opportunities go by
Where I could just sit in the dark of an October dawn
And watch the rise of the morning sun.
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