Extraordinary poetry from the UK's finest
Europe is lost, America lost, London is lost, Still we are clamouring victory. All that is meaningless rules, And we have learned nothing from history. People are dead in their lifetimes, Dazed in the shine of the streets. But look how the traffic keeps moving. The system’s too slick to stop working. Business is good. And there’s bands every night in the pubs, And there’s two for one drinks in the clubs. We scrubbed up well We washed off the work and the stress Now all we want’s some excess Better yet; A night to remember that we’ll soon forget. All of the blood that was shed for these cities to grow, All of the bodies that fell. The roots that were dug from the ground So these games could be played I see it tonight in the stains on my hands. The buildings are screaming I cant ask for help though, nobody knows me, Hostile and worried and lonely. We move in our packs and these are the rites we were born to Working and working so we can be all that we want Then dancing the drudgery off But even the drugs have got boring. Well, sex is still good when you get it. To sleep, to dream, to keep the dream in reach To each a dream, Don’t weep, don’t scream, Just keep it in, Keep sleeping in What am I gonna do to wake up? I feel the cost of it pushing my body Like I push my hands into pockets And softly I walk and I see it, it’s all we deserve The wrongs of our past have resurfaced Despite all we did to vanquish the traces My very language is tainted With all that we stole to replace it with this, I am quiet, Feeling the onset of riot. But riots are tiny though, Systems are huge, The traffic keeps moving, proving there’s nothing to do. It’s big business baby and its smile is hideous. Top down violence, structural viciousness. Your kids are doped up on medical sedatives. But don’t worry bout that. Worry bout terrorists. The water levels rising! The water levels rising! The animals, the polarbears, the elephants are dying! Stop crying. Start buying. But what about the oil spill? Shh. No one likes a party pooping spoil sport. Massacres massacres massacres/new shoes Ghettoised children murdered in broad daylight by those employed to protect them. Live porn streamed to your pre-teens bedrooms. Glass ceiling, no headroom. Half a generation live beneath the breadline. Oh but it's happy hour on the high street, Friday night at last lads, my treat! All went fine till that kid got glassed in the last bar, Place went nuts, you can ask our Lou, It was madness, the road ran red, pure claret. And about them immigrants? I cant stand them. Mostly, I mind my own business. But they’re only coming over here to get rich. It’s a sickness. England! England! Patriotism! And you wonder why kids want to die for religion? Work all your life for a pittance, Maybe you’ll make it to manager, Pray for a raise Cross the beige days off on your beach babe calendar. Anarchists desperate for something to smash Scandalous pictures of glamorous rappers in fashionable magazines Who’s dating who? Politico cash in an envelope Caught sniffing lines off a prostitutes prosthetic tits, And it's back to the house of lords with slapped wrists They abduct kids and fuck the heads of dead pigs But him in a hoodie with a couple of spliffs – Jail him, he’s the criminal It's the BoredOfItAll generation The product of product placement and manipulation, Shoot em up, brutal, duty of care, Come on, new shoes. Beautiful hair. Bullshit saccharine ballads And selfies And selfies And selfies And here’s me outside the palace of ME! Construct a self and psyhcosis And meanwhile the people are dead in their droves But nobody noticed, Well actually, some of them noticed, You could tell by the emoji they posted. Sleep like a gloved hand covers our eyes The lights are so nice and bright and lets dream But some of us are stuck like stones in a slipstream What am I gonna do wake up? We are lost We are lost We are lost And still nothing Will stop Nothing pauses We have ambitions and friends and our courtships to think of Divorces to drink off the thought of The money The money The oil The planet is shaking and spoiled Life is a plaything A garment to soil The toil the toil. I cant see an ending at all. Only the end. How is this something to cherish? When the tribesmen are dead in their deserts To make room for alien structures, Develop Develop Kill what you find if it threatens you. No trace of love in the hunt for the bigger buck, Here in the land where nobody gives a fuck.