lexicology of a wasted youth

Words fall
Like train tracks to the sky
The creator has a plan for this
But he forgot to let us fly

These people have a feeling
That makes them seem more strong
We all know hope is an atavism
That helps us get along

The placards are a noble lie
To keep the populace alive
The face on them is not to blame
For the propaganda we distain

The drummers keep on drumming
Whilst the soldiers find their hearts
The people in the Starbucks
Take to the pavement and begin to laugh

Because what you feel is freedom
And what we want is here
We won't win much approval
But for the oligarchs' deafened ears

This isn't a tidal wave with a destination
Because we've nowhere left to go
But the means becomes the reason when
You're surrounded by the flowers you wish to sow


I don't like to rhyme, but I did, I wrote this after an especially tame demo in London, I guess its about the intrinsic value of resistance, even when the odds are against you and even when it feels like you are just acting out a part in a massive theatrical puppet show that you've lost control of...