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BANG BALLS
FREEDOM OF SPEECH NOTHING SHOULD BE IMPOSED
IDEAS NOT LEECHED ONLY CREATIVELY COMPOSED |
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Jasmine
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Thursday, May 11, 2006
lit made man and man made god Man made from god He we call lord Once ruled by the church They left us in the lurch Freedom an alien Rights a freak Mind forged manacles made stern No creative juice could leak The tiger, a force of might The fly, appears only in the night In passion we proclaim The nurse, here to clean the stains Pipe on piper Lead us to the den of the tiger There we’ll be sacrificed And consecrated to their lies Continuing the journey of time Here’s Conrad’s line: Heart of Darkness The façade of civilization led to our blindness A journey of self-discovery A body of doubt Where’s the path to moral recovery? Vaporized into the clouds The river Thames The British sure not tame Invading lands abroad Their slaves call them lord Who are they to speak of culture Or more so efficiency and power? Beast of men evolved Remember, power in the world revolves Man’s pain soon switched Family problems at man pitched To run, Or confront? Tyrone stinged Mary drugged At Tyrone’s pocket Hardy pinched The boys, only thugs They ran and hid Alliances were bid But love was present Sadly ending with only cheap treason A Mary in white Don’t switch on the light They were all blinded in the dark By life’s non-existent happy cheerful lark Then came the hives of industries Where Tom lost his key His escape to a coffin Shhh… you be as silent as a pin Glass is fragile It is weak Laura’s limp – never agile Her futures bleak Shoes on shoes off Their home barely Amanda’s past loft Day in day out All as ordinary as anyone in the crowd Jim came and went Tom stayed too long to lament Amanda nagged too much as a mother That’s why they lost their charming father A model of paradise Their lives like dice Tossed around Their fate was never sound Women degenderlized Man almost the lord Their gender priced Ohhh… the women scream: MY FORD! The mindless washing Ideas and freedom flushing In the gym where they lay Only to await the next dreaded day Offred, Joy Do they both have a ploy? Moira, alone she stands Sadly, without a plan And finally, in the land not in our time Where jar’s queued up in their long lines Men made according to their class Sadly, cheapened to mere grass Lenina drugged and strips Only to be faced by John’s noble plea This to soon turn into pleasure with whips With the noose he tries to flee Huxley’s my man For paradise is his land Technology created The preoccupation with progress – mans fixated Does our journey end In such a land? With Blake’s ideals Keep yourself, don’t be reduced |
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