Saturday, 30 July 2016

the rich exiled to the streets pan-handling

I want to reshape the world
so you bow at my feet
So ill never have to phathom bending the knee
I want to reshape the world     So We are free Free from mans sins
That drench the world in monkey business
Human instincts 35 million years old
What is the point of impoverishing us all
The young.  The unborn
The working poor
With not a cent to her name she continues on
Running herself into the ground tank on empty the orange light beaming out
Is it funny do you cackle all alone when your shut up tight in your smug little home
Have you ever struggled to pay for the glutinous food that dances upon your dinner plate
To pay the rent  is to smother man in a garden made of sand
Has the will ever left you to get up out of bed
On a bright sunny morning with sunlight streaming in
Well many do.  Mostly likely never you. But I change is near for the corrupt I fear
the people shall descend    Devoid of fear   The mob will rule  like the wairau affair
To the great suburbs they march  with taiaha and bull bars To steal back there mana
Like deadly gentle soldiers peaceful at heart
who would rather be practicing sculptural art in a modest garage
It's funny to think how expediently   the rich can lose
Exiled to the streets pan handling

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