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Sep 2014
A ship sails empty of reason,
captains fear the treasons.
Silent and smooth is how it'll fall
the cabin-boy shall take the bar.

Blood can be found on every street,
both death and life here meet.
Life is a dying mystery,
pray god has blessed your destiny.

Outside the people's empty homes,
fathers, sons, left alone.
Big Brother dominates, he commands.
A billion voices in one hand.

Absence of imagination,
the End of independent thought.
Cities reek of corruption, ******
and the greatest of sins.
They raise and **** in
by the millions
yet only some men
seem to win.

The ocean itself is a burden,
bad dreams require a surgeon.
Twist well open the sails to Rome
if you flee the country, flee alone.

Between the alleys at this mass
the cross's shadow isn't cast.
Those booklets burn easy, use them well,
let vain ideas fry in hell.

Our viscious masters do predict
the fall of  Troika and rise of  Six.
A crew who drains such futile ink
is sure to drown us down the sink.

Save me from the grim Tomorrows
full of hate deceit and sorrows.
Oh, it's not about tyranny,It's human kind.
Justice is neverreally blind.

Glorious eyes
of curve-free posters
used as wallpaper
for the cleanest streets.
Looking up
to their Father
all good citizens
try to weep
the plain and empty tears
the Party demands
them sheep.

Behind the money lies the pain,
into fields fall the rain.
With empty pockets walk the road,
a thousand stories left untold.

I hope one day it could end ,
just by cutting down his head.
They hunt down anyonenot in line,
should we attempt this, is there time ?

Unfathomable ,
his hungry stomach calls for meat;
rotting, green, foul and sweet.
Rank food from the kitchens will be served,
for all the glory
he deserves.
Trapped under the ice,
in nineteen fifty-two.
A marxist society
led by one man,
with hope-filled speeches
but blood on it's hands.
Henry Brooke
Written by
Henry Brooke  Paris
(Paris)   
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