But it's all crazy, all this neo-fascist shit 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 fuck wins? because you AND the immigrant lose.
This shit's got polemic, pulled by extremist views,
taking the meanest cues,
we contravene abuse, on the daily.
It's all so fucked 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 fucking 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.