The Profits Vulture

Oh what dumb sheep and blind fools are we

To vote for those who empower the upper echelons of the bourgeoisie

For those suits, in hi-spec ivory towers, with their obscene salaries and bonus culture

Feed like fat cats on society's corpse, with their friend, the profits vulture

Austerity will bite in tenement blocks, far and wide, amidst winter's chill

Behind electronic gates the privileged few will luxuriate at St Georges Hill

Same country, but several mi££ion miles apart, across a yawning chasm

Where, obscenely, money seeks money with inappropriate enthusiasm

Leaden skies loom from the countryside to the concrete crush of the metropolis

Because deaf ears hear naught that's said, from those oppressed, amongst the populace

And so they'll gather and rise, for they've nothing to lose, and they'll kick down doors

A raging throng, who've had enough of platitudes, of a zero hours contract corps

Those suits should abandon their ivory towers, for there is a smell like sulphur

And make amends, all those fat cat feeders and their friend, the profits vulture

If not, one day they'll be found and bound as they play their insidious power games

And dragged through the impoverished streets where reality festers and ends in flames

The Labyrinth of Time

'The High Priestess' reveals and nothing she'll bar

Low light is repealed as she shows me The Star...

...and I'm swimming in smog, or maybe I'm tripping

As I stumble through a room where the clock isn't ticking

This can't be any kind of reality, or so it would seem

But I've been here before, in this place in between

I pass through a door and I'm chilled to the marrow

She's sat at a table, her cold hand on a tarot

I look into her eyes of our memories passed

And sit down beside her, knowing the die has been cast

She opens the pack and shows me the cards

Revealing our lives and exposing my scars

Her thoughts are a whisper confined in my head

'A new hand has been dealt' is soothingly said...

'Judgements's reversed, reflecting misgiving

Eerily Death's not the end, it's just a beginning

Never you'll cease; for all that you were, will be there tomorrow

...and more than a shadow of the physically hollow'

She's gone... and I'm mysteriously borne from where I was sitting

Into a way station waiting room, where the clock is now ticking

This can't be what was of the past or the present

So I open a door to The Knight, and The Moon in a crescent

I awake with a start! I've escaped from a dream

Where I was trapped in a place of The World in between

An alarm clock is ringing, as if waking the dead

'We've been here before' whispered, as she climbs out of bed...

...'The Lovers' revealed amble through meadow, hall and ivory towers

Encompassed in the labyrinth of time, but joyous amongst the wild flowers

Hell's Creation

Did you; could you, look into the children's eyes?

To contemplate all those drip fed lies

And who convinced you of the heinous act to follow?

Amongst the throng, you took their time, that wasn't yours to borrow

Did insanity call, or did you believe your malevolent guidance?

Weren't you touched by humanity, before your indiscriminate violence?

But now you've gone and there are no words of vitriol for an explanation

For yours was the, sick, deadly deed of (and you'll always be) hell's creation

And now, whatever godforsaken planet you lived on, you have departed

To leave behind the unbroken bond of the brokenhearted

Perhaps you're alone, somewhere better, with your hands of blood

But of those you've taken and left behind, unlike you, they'll be forever loved

Where Rainbows Die

This time, this life, was not meant to be

For you and I to share our joie de vivre

But perhaps there's a place, a parallel conjunction

Where we are together, forever, without compunction

In a reverie, I can see him there, is he playing possum?

Amongst the verdant grasses, beneath the pinkish hue of adorning blossom

And he's smiling and giggling with his merry larking

As an angel and butterflies espy, with a dog and its tail wagging barking

But the here and now is invisible lines that we cannot cross

With those maudlin feelings akin to loss

But perhaps somewhere, someplace, we're sharing pillows

And having lazy picnics beneath weeping willows

In this life are we victims that have been robbed?

For there's no menage a cinq, or even a dog named Bob!

Although I sense, can almost feel, the sound of carefree laughter

Is that you and I together and living happily ever after?

But in a nagging, dreadful dream, I can see the end of days

As winter kills the last warmth of our summers' rays

And reality lies in the lines of a different story

Where rainbows die, unnoticed, and without furore

Memento Mori

Don't look now, beyond mortality's inequitable shambles

For the hourglass drains in a ring of guttering candles

Focus forwards, whilst time is a concept of linear motion

And ponder not that you might be the next one chosen

Rainbows rising, blue skies, the blossom sprawling

Let the songbirds chorus be your only calling

Catch the breeze and bathe in the glory of sun-kissed days

And dwell on the ethereal, but not the words of knaves

Lead your life, for there is no need to follow

For what's here today, maybe gone tomorrow

Spring into summer, for you'll fall into winter

Beam with true awe and never settle for a simper

For all too soon you'll take note of the fog that's forming

And you'll learn to fear the raven and its malevolent cawing

When forever is never, then what are the seasons; four

The fifth is the silence that darkness obscures

Time is a privilege, that is given, until reclaimed by remotion

But on the cusp of the void you'll be alone and the only one chosen

To be cast adrift, an intangible shade, in a sea of shadows

An empty space in the depths, beyond life's ebbing shallows

Don't look now, just contemplate, memento mori

Knowing there'll be no escape, for you are mortality's quarry

So lead your life without angst, or any oppressive sorrow

For what's here for you today cannot possibly follow

Oust the Megalomania of "God"

They knew nothing, but they needed to know it all
So the 'know-it-alls' obliged and told tales tall
They gathered their stories of religious depiction
And created their scriptures and books of biblical fiction

With the Creator created in their own glorious image
They spread all their fables to every town and village
Blind faith in ignorance is bliss, with no second guessing
Just hellfire and crosses, Waheguru and count all your blessings

Purge all your sins before the inconspicuous, but ominously, omnipresent
An egotistical maniac with powers fiendishly unpleasant
For his is the work of the moon and the stars and 'no' to starvation
And the very soil of our Eden and peace for every nation

Question: If "God" is so great, why do the heretics go berserk...
And why do his lascivious priests abuse and pervert?
Answer: There is no immortal arbiter, just degrees of insanity
So forget all the fairy-tales and make do with humanity

Oust the megalomania of "God", for the unreal have no opinions
Only the fantasies aroused from the mouths of artificial minions
In the search for enlightenment let's stick to the facts
Not the ignorance found with the "God" of the gaps

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Upon a Burning Cross

Through crimson eyes as cold as blood soaked frost
He stares as his nemesis burns upon a burning cross
The searing flames rage, the only weapon in his armoury
To quell the lying words, in tongues, of the quasi-harmony

'Twas always known that God was only in thoughts amiss
But Satan's realm is fact and is in the inferno of his abyss
And he's here amongst us, with his dark force legions
Forever sworn to him in a mephistophelean allegiance

The prayers of the pious, of the holy mission
Will look to the heavens, but will face perdition
Thou will fear all evil, for there'll be no warning
For the work of the incendiary is not for stalling

Soon the heat of the thermonuclear will be a desert winter
For his is the world of ash and dust and every last cinder
From the choking soot filled skies the black carbon reigns
Over the apocalyptic conflagration of his chthonic flames

No faux gods, or saints, will help in cataclysmic clashes
With the agents of Hades rising in demonic black masses
Foretold is the future, so foreseen is what's lost
With the torch of humanity dying...

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