We jump through the hoops
looping the loops and scoop the big prize.
We thread lies through the eyes of needles and
stitch falsehoods on silk,sour milk for mankind.
We sell futures as if there’s a future to sell and the hell that we’re left with is all that’s left to give and who gives a damn?
The fisherman did as he bid nets to cast, knowing full well that still waters held fast to a feast,
at least that’s the story we’re told.

The bold and the brave will become the old and a slave of the young and the new and then what will they do with the future they sold? will they
try to hold onto it as they flit through the hell that they made? swapping silk for brocade is a poor mans solution,the problem that’s posed is, suppose it was you in the spotlights,cramped in the headlamps and nowhere to go,when the wolves are bearing down on you what do you do,when a smile doesn’t cut it and you’re told to just shut it,so do you swallow your words,choke on your tongues?
is this existence
have we designed a new plague, is this the eleventh pestilence to rain down on us,is this the future we wait for,the last bus to Hades?

Ladies and Gentlemen there was a time when,
when the forests were glades and we were just ‘babes in the wood’ and the future looked good but we turned away from all that,learnt the world wasn’t flat and what goes around comes round,we poisoned the earth,the very ground that we walk on and yet we still talk on and on as if it hasn’t all gone and will come round once again,but you don’t need a sermon from me,you already know
that’s why the family silver’s been sold,that’s why we’re old before our notes fall due,that’s why the new have it all.
The fall of man will come not with a bang but a signature on a mortgage foreclosure and at the end of it when we’ve bent all we can and are as twisted as only a man can be,freed from all doubt in a boat somewhere out on the sea,
we’ll cast nets and catch fishes for tea.


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