Let the bad times roll….a zeitgeist poem.

Been hearing a lot about the Irish situation recently, personally I sometimes need to see a more blatant version of my own situation in order to really feel and appreciate what’s happening around me. I remember hearing lots of radio coverage and talk about it last November (and seeing the fancy, empty buildings in Dublin!) whilst I was in Ireland and a tv show I saw spelt it all out and made it very hard to ignore. Its the same sort of incompetence, machismo and lack of regulation that’s caused massive problems here, but the results for people in Ireland are different, where it’s worse I don’t know, and I guess that doesn’t really matter.

———————————

This sky is not grey, it is silver.

Your hair is not blonde, it is gold.

There is a glint in everything you show me,

But there’s no shine in anything we’ve been told.

I see £5 notes drifting on the wind,

And they’re worthless like dead leaves in the trees.

But I don’t have to leave my room to be a prophet,

I don’t have to go outside to be set free.

 

You’ve got so many holes in the soles of your feet man,

But I love the fact you’re drunk like a fool.

I would gladly share your beer and your theories,

if it weren’t for my appointment with some man in a room.

And it’s a shame about the malaise in this city girl,

That we’re haunted by the wind and the grey,

But there’s a spring in my hip like a jack girl,

I’ll use my energy up just to hear you say:

 

Let the bad times roll….

 

I see beautiful minds wandering round in dirty jackets,

suits finally struggling to admit that they were wrong.

I hear anger on the streets like a peal of bloody thunder,

And everybody there wants to hear it in a song.

But songs are for the beautiful, the tainted and the fragile,

They can’t be used to document this war.

A song should fly through the sky like a dove girl,

This battle is rough and should be fought on the floor.

 

But I see the shrug in the shoulders of the bureaucrat,

the snide grin on the face of the accused.

They were like children that were given a pretty hand grenade,

Upon explosion, they stepped back with us and looked confused.

And I’ve kinda felt detached from this zeitgeist of fear man,

I’ve swum on the bottom of the sea catching pearls,

But when there’s better youth than me down the alley of indignation,

I’m a stickler for the documentation of this world.

 

Let the bad times roll….

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One Response to Let the bad times roll….a zeitgeist poem.

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