The crowds, slithering down the aisles
aimless yet ordered, manoeuvering
shopping carts and metal baskets
Welcome to the lower class, the minion slave tied to the renting a house instead of a home. The climate is too harsh not to have shelter. They shop at thrift stores and outfit themselves for twenty bucks, hell they can find a living room for under a hundred dollars or bones or what ever you want to call them, that magic thing called Ca$h.
All those people spending that cash, in most cases, hard earned.
How did this ever happen * The Consumer they call us
We save a lot of money
Spending money we don't got.
Ownership is the problem.. How does someone have the right to stake a claim to a chunk of land, then parcel it off and make money selling it.
The Earth belongs to all of us.
The rich will go forward and lay claim to any planet they can reach for its natural resources.. How the hell can we let that happen. The Universe is ours, it belongs to everybody. We will leave this dirt and venture back when it has healed.
I can see them harvesting asteroids and riding comets, waving there Stetsons
And hootin' yee haw as they speed through the galaxy, trying to hold onto their imagined power. The making up the rules as they go along.
Sometimes I just have to ignore everything and create my own little world.
A world where I trust my dead friends for sure. I don't know about everyone else.
Leave everything all behind finding some real peace. Not this chanting about it, but shaping it and moving it like the malleable construct that it is....
if you can call it a construct... and if you can't then 'what the hell'.
We are more than we know, more than we claim.. the People can be the power
We can start again, start all over before we swallow ourselves whole... and in part. Dismembered for certain. Dismembered and sent to the other side of the country, or half way around the world.
I haven't edited it as of yet. I'll look at it tomorrow.
*the consumer they call us -Stompin' Tom Connors
