The sum-total of somethings is still something
Yet the sum-total of nothings is always nothing
It’s always nothing
So fight even to loose
As the blood from your knuckles will still stain the future
March angry
Inactive sat on your sofas
To the beat of News
Which speaks loud enough to
Double-times your heart’s fear – go on, run now, leave
But He’s tied your shoe-laces, too
With tales as tall as West Bank walls: the world is burning out there
An invasion of alien ideals has landed
On the beaches beneath those white cliffs
Your forefathers and forefather’s father fort to keep clean
Though the irony it was for those exact same ideals
Is lost on you
In lay-byes
At least this knowledge weighs heavy on my chest
And is not the empty weightlessness of an ignorance
Who’s bliss will only last as long a
The tyrant takes to wake you from it
Comments ( 0 )