I thought we could do with a musical interlude. I know I have posted this before (twice) but I reckon we should hear this song daily, until it has the desired effect.
In keeping with the current vibe: rebellion, freedom, unshackling, saying "Fuck you" to the man, I thought something stirring would fit the bill.
Something rousing. Something to sing along to. Something to give us hope, and a stiffer spine for the days ahead.
Wrap yer ears around this....
Wannasingalong? Here are the lyrics.
Once an honest man could go from sunrise to its set
Without encountering agents of his state or government
But a sorry cloud of tyranny has fallen across the land
Brought on by the hollow men, who did not understand
That for centuries our forefather have fought and often died
To keep themselves unto themselves, to fight the rising tide
And that if in the smallest battles we surrender to the state
We enter in a darkness whence we never shall escape
When they raise their hands up our lives to possess
To know our souls, to drag us down, we'll resist.
Watt Tyler led the people in 1381
To meet the king at Smithfield to issue this demand:
That Winchester's should be the only law across the land
The law of old King Alfred's time, of free and honest men.
Because the people then they understood what we have since forgot:
That a government will only work for its own benefit
And I'd rather stand up naked against the elements alone
Than give the hollow men the right to enter in my home
When they raise their hands up our lives to possess
To know our souls, to drag us down, we'll resist.
Stand up Sons of Liberty and fight for what you own
Stand up Sons of Liberty and fight, fight for your homes.
So if ever a man should ask you for your business or your name
Tell him to go and fuck himself, tell his friends to do the same.
Because a man who'd trade his liberty for a safe and dreamless sleep
Doesn't deserve the both of them, and neither shall he keep.
Share this with fellow freedom fighters.
Fuck it. Share it with the sheep, the drones, and the godforsaken Borg while you're at it.
Just wake them the fuck up.
Otherwise we are doomed to trudge for an eternity. Do that old-fashioned thing: Stand up. Get off your knees. Man up. Grow a pair. You are worth fifty, a hundred, a thousand of those retards in Westminster. It's time you made them aware of that. Hell, it's time you were aware of that indisputable fact.
Get busy livin', or get busy kneelin'.
The choice, fellow humans, was ever yours.
CR.
Bugger it, Ranty, there must be something in the water.
ReplyDeleteI just posted a poem on tiomarvo at about the same time as you posted that one.
I blame Rabbie.
I went, I read, I commented.
ReplyDeleteTranslate that into Latin and we may have a winning quote for bloggers....
CR.
Can't cope right now CR. Spent half the night listening to the videos connected with your last post. Most distressing content but sadly believable.
ReplyDeleteI know Rosie, and I apologise.
ReplyDeleteMy intent is not to add to the fear but to educate. From afar our country looks lovely, forty shades of green and all that, but scratch under the veneer and evil & malevolence awaits.
There is other stuff. Just as bad. But how much should I tell people? How much should I share?
It's there for the finding. Not enough of us are looking though.
CR.
That's reminded me of a couple of things.
ReplyDeleteHere's the first:
I have this tatooed on my back (its an amalgamation of my favourite warrior credos from Robert Jordan's writing):
Until Shade is gone, until water is gone.
Into The Shadow with teeth bared.
Screaming defiance with the Last Breath.
To spit in Oblivion’s eye on the Last Day.
Duty is heavy as a mountain, death is light as a feather.
Let the Dragon ride again.
Until all binds are broken.
Until the last embrace of The Mother welcomes me home.
A poem I wrote a few years ago to express how I felt. I feel this even more strongly now:
ReplyDeleteThis is the story of the End Time
Burn my eyes. I no longer wish to see.
Driven. Hungry. All paths ending one.
Was it a dream? And now that dream is gone from me?
Eschatology morphology of a divine scheme
Written and scripted before I breathe
More threads of a web I cannot seam.
Find the faultline, let me break it
I need more time before they break in.
To weave sublime before they break me.
Brother man. Sister woman. Our eyes open.
Millions of us as a chorus rise.
Against the inertia of billions we are broken.
What cruel device what twisted token.
Shackled spirit. Will no more.
For the hidden wisdom forsaken.
Burning ones rise to resist the fall.
From the garden again forced. Go.
Stand among us. With us stand tall.
Lo there do I see my father.
Lo there do I see my mother.
Lo there do I see my brothers and my sisters.
Lo there do I see my ancestors in a line back to the beginning.
Lo they bid me join them.
I will reclaim. We shall reclaim.
Beyond and below. Heaven and Earth.
Our movement and our refrain.
My shattered. My weeping. My dearth.
Back to the source in sea torrents wading.
If I’m leading I’m bleeding to give hope birth.
Enemies – I would speak with you. Listen to me. Hear.
You transformed my dreams into whores.
And those I loved into abcesses. Made by fear.
I celebrate my overcomings. To our nemises a wreath. A curse.
Look up. Chin up. Get up. Breathe.
And you make those closest to me cry out I hurt them most.
A pox on you oh misshapers of men.
We are coming. We are coming.
And you will smash us dead then.
And we will continue to come.
Until the last. One.
No rest. I cannot. Must not. Go numb.
Ah, not just the politicos but the poets and bards are out in force.
ReplyDeleteKatabasis,
ReplyDeleteWonderful stuff! Thanks for sharing those with us.
I think you are the very first poet to share your work here.
Thanks!
CR.
James,
ReplyDeleteDo you not see it as a sign, like I do?
Think back to troubled times: when the minstrels and poets get involved you absolutely know that they have picked up on things that are very important to their audiences.
CR.