Consciousness, Literature and the Arts

Archive

Volume 2 Number 3, December 2001

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A PORTFOLIO OF MISERY

by


Tim Cloudsley




ATTACK ON THE WORLD TRADE CENTRE




This Is A Time Of Lingering




This is a time of lingering,
Not knowing where all will go,
Not knowing when new light will break
Through scowling clouds onto warm greenery
And flowers of every colour.




A Bad Rhyme




Smoke and dust and ashes,
>From all our hopes and prayers,
Extinguish visionary Love.

Overthrow Mossadekh!
Impose the Shah of Iran,
Then get the Ayatollah`s revolution.

Arrange the Tomkin incident,
Blast Vietnam with napalm -
Defoliate their land!

Train and equip Bin Laden,
Chaos reigns in Afghanistan,
Get Islamic Fundamentalism.

Overthrow Chilean democracy,
Get Fascist Pinochet:
Torture, murder, dictatorship.

Arm Contra terrorists,
Against democracy in Nicaragua,
Make Latin America bleed.

Idle, evil policies,
Made by vicious people
With massive power:  and then?




Mad Goodness




Madness:  O yes,
Proclaim War against an unknown enemy!
Announce how many times we will attack
Without knowing whom we will attack!
O yes, the West is Best and Good and True,
The enemy is Eastern, Evil, Dark.
And whatever the U.S. decides to do,
Everyone agrees in advance to support!
After all, they are Good, and will fight Satan
To absolute, total, annhilation and disappearance!
Then only good people will be alive, living in Goodness!



A Metaphysics Of Consciousness, Life, And Being




But the trouble is,
It did not happen like that.
Noone yet knows exactly how it did,
But it was much more, or much less, simple.
And that is the whole point.




Haiku




Succour
>From the Diary of Anne Frank:
Thirteen years old, in love with life.




All Human Beings




All human beings are born with absolute rights,
Not just equal, that is not enough.
Absolute means unequivocal, uncompromisable,
Unlevellable to a minimum, above which
Someone can buy more.
These are not just rights to something,
They are rights to be who one is
In all senses:  physical, psychological, emotional, spiritual.




Here In Glasgow, There Was No Attack




Here in Glasgow, there was no attack,
Nor would there have been if I had been in Rio de Janeiro.
The attacks were in America, and the thought of those deaths,
And extraordinary buildings destroyed by planes
Is mind-blowing.  It hurts, because of the violence,
And also, deeply, because Americans are sort of our "cousins";
It is in our guts as British.
They are one hell of a people - courageous, unphased,
Yet so damned stupid:  why were
Israeli attacks on Palestinian civilians
Not assaults on "civilization" and "humanity"?
The thought of all the thousands in those immense
Buildings like mini-cities in their own right
Dying amid the belching smoke and collapsing dust
Is something unbelievable, yet all the President
Can talk of, is "punishing" the folks what done it.
Does he or his Vice-President really believe
This was an attack on "Democracy"?
Does even he not see that psychopathology
Might be mixed with genuine greivance,
In those who have been trodden on as if they were worms;
Did not the persecuted of Europe once have the right
To fight the Nazis in every way;  and is this not now, how others feel?




The Horror Of The Holocaust




The Horror of the Holocaust
Has been with me all my conscious life.
Other atrocities must never hide
Behind it, no matter how much smaller
In numerical size;  must never be deemed
Irrelevant by comparison.




A Tragedy Of Terror:  The Cycle Of Atrocity:
A Roll Call Of Fate Through Generations Of Inhumanity
And The Curse Of Vengeance




The Nazis killed the Jews
The Israelis kill the Arabs
Who will the Arabs kill?

It was not the filthy architects
Of hatred and aggression
Who suffered,
As always, the ordinary people burned
Because of their evil leaders.




Be Good!




They walk, with noses in the air,
Far above my world;
Like Gulliver, I must suffer my inferiority,
But pretend it is not real,
And that to transcend humiliation,
I must simply ignore it.
"Let us be bigger than such pettiness!
Let us allow that love is greater
Than silly squabbles permit!"
Oh ho, ho yes!  Ignore the pain,
When the crunching boot of an iron giant
Stamps upon you, bleeding your jugular,
Just think of higher things!




Attack On The World Trade Centre




Sitting there, sloping off the edge of a chair,
Depressed.  Society does not get better.
It does not end, in spite of Baudrillard,
But it does not resurrect itself through its visions
Or intelligence.  At least, only very rarely,
Partially, and for a short time.




Anger




I`m going to sink back into my ancient radicalism:
I hate the System, to hell with politics;
Lying, deceiving bastards all.
To hell with all the bastard politicians
And the lousy media,
War mongers, liars, destoyers of faith,
Mangling the human race.
I`m going back to complete Opposition
To all their lies and filth,
Never again will I begin to trust
One vile word from their mouths.







O Memories




O memories!
The twisting of blood-boned marrow
As we resisted War!
We, such traitors,
Churned out of our beings for daring to speak
Or rather squeak, against the State,
The Establishment, our Fathers, Masters,
Who demanded our silence as they ordered the dropping
Of electronic bombs from electronic planes
Anywhere, so long as it was only in the Third World,
Wog-land, Gook-land, anywhere weak,
With people poor, far away,
With different cultures, different languages,
Unable to fight back,
Or even speak loudly!
Ho ho, hee hee, the Wonderful West,
America and Britain especially,
Homes of Freedom, Truth, Real Religion,
And arms, arms fairs, tanks, planes,
Bombs, technology of death and destruction;
O to packaged War, distant, like supermarket meat!




Confession




Tormented by self-doubt,
I feel not sanctimonious,
Split between two beings;
One introspective, quiet, and shy,
The other extraverted, impulsive, provocative;
Life and thought are difficult.


Expression




I cannot but express my soul,
Something in me insists so hard,
But sometimes it appears I am not allowed to,
Bullies will not permit it.




Valediction




That fool
Blair
Has lost his soul
By siding with the American Empire
Against Justice
Strutting on a phoney stage
Rather than coping with grievance
Of millions
Goodbye Blair
I feel like Beethoven
When he ripped up his dedication
To Napoleon
I thought well of thee
But no more










The U.S.A.




You`ve won the world
But lost everything real:
Too fast, such ultimate power
Without wisdom;  strength
Without self-control.
Too much moral puritanism,
Hard work, achievement;
Yet too much ease, sloth of mind;
Furious frenzy, dampened down;
Strange, bad combinations,
For you and all the world.




I`m Very Relieved To Hear




I`m very relieved to hear, that
If and when America attacks Afghanistan
There will only be very poor women and children there
To be burned up;  so it won`t matter much.
It`s also very good to hear
That our Prime Minister apologized
To Butcher Sharon for Jack Straw`s
Suggestion that Israel`s genocide against
The Palestinians has anything to do with
Terrorism.
The story continues...............






The Way




It`s not quite that Way
Because
We`re wandering,
Along a stream whose direction
We don`t yet know
(Though some think they know)




First There Was The Crime




First there was the Crime, and then
An apple appeared, to confuse it all.
The Crime was forgotten, and the apple was blamed
For causing another crime, which happened because
Everyone hungrily fought over the apple,
And the Original Criminal escaped in the fracas.
When peace had broken out, due to the exhaustion of all,
The Criminal returned and did another Crime;
He was not seen, so seven out of ten
Blamed the other three, and killed them for the Original Crime;
Then the apple reappeared, and the seven worshipped it,
Yet also blamed it for all crime.
Then it turned out, that of the murdered three,
One of them had survived, as a kind of ghoul
In crutches and bandages, and he was veangeful,
But because he could not see the seven,
He shot an arrow at the now sacred apple,
So the seven swore veangeance,
While the Criminal laughed from his secret hole.




A NEW NEW HOLY TESTAMENT ACCORDING TO SOME LOVING GUYS




 I  Shrub`s Dream




Shrub, the Toxic Texan,
Destroyed everything he could:
Treaties, Peace, arrangements to improve
Relations between people, and those between
People and their environments:
He loved to smash them all.
But more than that he loved to drop
Bombs on Afghanistan - this was
His deepest wish of all.




II  Bombs Of Wonder




O wonderful the sound of bombs
On Afghanistan`s rocky land!
Explosions like the bang of steel
Underneath quaking sand!
How good to be reminded of
Fragility in the earth`s crust,
There where only desert fools
Scratch existence in their twilight!
An object lesson in geology,
What good practise for cruise missiles;
Lovely, lovely war again,
Will scorpions survive?


III  War Against Beelzebub




In the beginning, there was Hope,
And at the end, were America`s bombs.
Funny the history in between,
The media never reported it.
O Yea!  this war could not be filmed
Like the Gulf War on grand Television;
This time, there is only dust
And smoke, the land is very poor.
Very bad was that Bin Laden,
Hiding in his cave,
He really is Beelzebub,
With kaftan and Moslem clothes.
Shrub and Blair and Sharon and Keegan
Wanted to change all that,
And so they sent their fast jet planes
Over to Afghanistan.
There they bombed and bombed and bombed,
Yet mixed food with aid and explosives;
Rather confusing sadly it was
For the people on the ground.




IV  Manna From Heaven




Like manna from heaven they tried to catch
The wonderful falling things,
Some exploded, some you could eat, others were medicines.
The flashing lightning and terrifying bangs
Made it hard to distinguish them:
But intention is really what always counts -
The droppers meant only well.
They had never helped before,
So it was very kind
Of the West to drop this food and stuff
Mixed with giant bombs.




V  Bum City




Kabul is an ancient city,
But noone in the West
Has ever really visited it,
And its people are oh so strange.
So bombs raining down from high,
Will only blow up baddies,
Goodies can catch the lovely grub,
And be happy the West is being
So very kind.  And with full stomachs,
They can watch a firework display!




VI  Righteous God




Beelzebub he whacked New York,
So very evil he.
And all the world would pay a penalty,
No matter who they be.
God must punish everyone,
All those who do not agree,
Noone can be neutral
In this ultimate Fiddle-Dee-Dee.
And so the righteous show themselves
As absolute Tiddle-Dee-Dee,
Wow!  the bombs are big, and bang,
They must have shaken the sea.
"Dead or alive,"  the God proclaimed,
"All must sing the same Diddle-Dee-Dee."




REFLECTIONS ON THE BOMBING OF AFGHANISTAN




An Ode To Blair




Ho ho, how you did want to teach
Egyptians to be Moslem!
You read the Koran on an aeroplane
And felt a deep vocation!
When it says one must not ever kill
Innocent women and children,
That applied only to terrorists
Attacking with old Bin Laden!
It does not apply to Western planes
Bombing Iraq or Afghanistan,
Nor, of course, does it apply at all
To Israelis murdering Palestinians.
Indeed, whenever Western Goodies
Kill and maim and torture,
This is always in the Name of Good,
Quite unlike when Arabs kill,
Or Vietnamese fight back, or Nicaraguans
Resist their government`s overthrow
By American-backed terroristic Hell!

O so religious, you really are!
You want to build new bridges.
That`s why you bomb and bomb and bomb
The lands of Iraq and Afghanistan.
Blair, O Blair, how wonderfully fair,
Today you look so ugly;
Something from your chewed-up soul
Exudes and spoils your visage!
"I don`t like my country nailed
To the mast of American Terrorism!"

Saint Augustine`s City of God
Is obviously New York,
Baghdad and Kabul, Kabul or Baghdad,
Are merely holes to bomb!
O bomb Baghdad, bomb Kabul,
They really are hopeless dumps.
No matter that terrorists plotted in Hamburg;
In London, and Washington,
It really is so much more fun
To bomb Afghanistan.
Everyone loves to see big bombs
Exploding on wide T.V.,
So long as it`s in Baghdad, or now
Kabul:  how sad that we can`t see
The luscious explosions on CNN
Close and bright and pure.
This one is not a T.V war,
It is very slow and demure.
O Bible, Koran, and your endless babble,
Make beautiful new speeches,
You really are a religious man,
Like Bush, so full of peaches.
"You are puffed up with endless vanities,
You cannot distinguish truth from profanities."




Another War




O let us roar!  as once before
Against such insanity.
Come on people, let`s weave our might
Against these evil spells;
Against gutter tabloids, the Government, Tories,
Rise up and drown their lies,
New lions we all must be again:
"Out, Demons, Out!"




O This Desperate World




O this desperate World,
That with a little consistent care
And intelligence employed,
Could have been so very much better.




A Thought (I)




The Moors in Spain did not destroy
Christians or Jews at all,
Only when Christian Spaniards expelled
The Moors, did they boot the Jews out, too.




A Thought (II)




No religion is good or bad,
Traditions are mixed, and human beings
Choose to kick and punch, or love,
Just as they will to do.

A Ballad Of The Loving Shrublair, Bushblair, Or Shrubbel Air




Now Bushblair was a hybrid soul,
A funny man were they,
Reputedly one hand restrained
The other, in schizoid play.

A Strange Love there was between
The two sides of Shrubbel Air,
One rushed round the world for the other,
The other searched for words.

The President-cheat and the manqué General
Loved to run a war,
But also showed how loving and caring
He were, with many a tear.




These Days, I Am All Dust And Debris




These days, I am all dust and debris,
Seeing the clouds around the twin towers
And the pulverisation of Afghanistan.
I smell it, when I tread in my back lane,
Crunching dust of puddled soil,
Rotting leaves of Autumn, particles
Of pavement and concrete dust.

The faces of politicians seem dusty,
Even the women, winds blow over eternal deserts,
No civilizations keep their temples
High above the stretching dust
For long.  Power always corrupts
Leaders and governments,
Everywhere, of every hue.




Think American




Everyone must learn to think American,
(And British), learn to define Terrorism
As anything that threatens the U.S.A.
(Not Britain, nor anywhere else);
And so to forget all injustices
All over the world, if they don`t threaten
America.  Don`t bomb Colombia,
Don`t bomb Ireland, don`t bomb Sri Lanka,
Don`t bomb Indonesia.
But do bomb Afghanistan, do bomb Iraq,
Do bomb Iraq, and bomb Afghanistan
For ever and ever and ever.




ARMAGEDDON




Anthrax (I)




Anthrax
Let`s have the facts!
O what a dirty war.
Who in fact did declare it,
America, or the powder men?
Or did Iraq, Binny Lad, or Israel,
Or the P.L.O. ("Hell No!")?
In fact, it may have been a goat,
Dying of thirst in the Middle East,
Or a Scapegoat for Christianity!
Blood in the Dead Sea floats
Because it is so salty,
Every white chemical is strange
Before these Gods Almighty!

Americans do not like germs,
Such things are primitive,
Better suited to other lands,
Well-accustomed to misery!

America exports hamburgers,
"Dynasty" and "Dallas" too,
As well as dictatorships and mayhem,
Whenever it serves them well.
They do not expect dizzy planes
To scythe into their towers,
Nor to get weird infections
>From mailed envelopes!




Anthrax (II)




Shrub, he thought that Anthrax was
An evil fly, and so he sent
His men to pour Texan oil
All over the flies in Afghanistan.

Hot General Air, he wagged his finger
At Anthrax bacteria (knowing them well),
And lectured them to read their Koran,
Their Bible, and Medical Textbooks.

These bacteria were never asked
To join the Grand Coalition;
Any more than the P.L.O.,
Or normal people, like me!

Remember;  all, outside the Coalition,
Are automatically pro-Terrorist.
They could not help it, the poor Anthrax,
Working, though decent, on the side of Evil.




Shrub`s Other Dreams




American Shrub, he had this dream,
That if he went to outer space,
And visited Mars, or the moon again
Holding American flags,
He would then leave not only bombs,
But bags and bags of food!
This visionary thought his scribes inscribed
Into his platinum plaques,
Ready to leave on the planet red,
Or on the silvery moon!

Now Shrub could bear, like Job before him,
Many a test and trial,
But what he did not like at all
Was someone nipping his toe!
He did not like an Eastern man
Riding on a camel,
Sticking his butt right up on high,
Then smiling saucily!
This, although he was so folksy,
He could not stand at all,
It seemed to him so disrespectful
Of his oily heritage.
He was too good an American
To hear a different view
About anything at all, of ozone or slaves,
Or missiles blackmailing you.

If Armageddon it must be,
He would geddon-oudof-here,
>From his bunkers he could instruct his men
To fight and flight and feel fear.
"Bin Laden is a man who is.............
A very evil man!"
O Shrub was such an orator,
He tripped upon his warrior`s spear.
Stronger and stronger he became
In the crisis he made greater,
He wanted to exceed his father`s folly,
As Blair would outdo that of Mrs. Thatcher!
Has the world any hope at all
With morons like this at its helm?

Now Blair, because he was so keen
To be Shrub`s messenger,
Never noticed the Peace Agreement
Fall apart in Northern Ireland.
Well, how unimportant bombs
Are, in London`s Canary Wharf,
Compared to Uncle Sam`s bangs
And fury in New York!
This is only Britain, no Holy War
Against Terrorism here,
We are only a silly Robin
Serving a big old Batman.

O ho, hee hee hee,
Let us all get drunk by the sea.
Then at least, before the terror,
Burning through its fuse of error,
Explodes and leaves us free,
To disperse as souls throughout eternity,
We can enjoy the glorious waters,
So long as they are not too polluted,
Before we all die.

If you do not care about people
They will not care about you,
And you can shout and shout and shout,
It will not turn black into blue.

 


GROUND WAR




How many secret agents creep
Inside Afghanistan now?
It looks as if Binny Lad and Shrub
Are going to meet at an O.K. Corral
And shoot it out in glorious hell,
What a shame any others are there!
If they were alone it would be lovely,
Filmed by Steven Spielberg,
Unfortunately so many peaceful Afghans
Will not live to see that day.
These doppel-gängers threaten to destroy
The whole world in their stupidity;
Like General Thatcher and Mrs. Galtieri,
Bush so Senior and Saddam Bam,
They are inextricably bound in soul,
Fundamentalist in their bowels,
Teaching that all their pawns become heroes,
As they die;  when their bosses
Click their fingers, fat and mad.
American soldiers love to die
If dying is not in vain,
Why do their helicopters always crash
In far-off desert lands?
Helicopters, pellipopters, piddly poodly doos,
They flutter and flash, like useless hulks
And clonk into rocks and sand.
American hellitoppers were made to crash,
It is in their metallic souls,
Except in Vietnam, where they scented the air
With lovely napalm smells!
The Israeli Cabinet and Georgie Shrub
Don`t like people fighting back!
They forget that other Evil Persons
Can kill, just as they do.
Anthrax Bin and Saddam`s scuds
Are really o so devious,
The Congress and the Pentagon
Will need to think anew!
And make new bombs and helicopters
That do not crash so quickly,
Otherwise Belgium or Pakistan
May change their minds, and not support
This Wonderful War to end all Wars,
Against all dreadful Terrorism!

The West has always the stiffest cock,
Shrub insists it is true!
Although, because he is so Christian,
He keeps it well out of view.
O think of the refugees hanging like ducks
At the border with Pakistan,
Like other millions driven to despair
By careless, cruel wars,
Like the turkey-shoot against Iran,
Made by jolly old Saddam Bam,
Helped by the Western Powers!

"Hast thou no love for thine brethren?
O well, just bomb, for nothing then."




The West has turned into
A touchy, prickly psychopath.
"Touch me, and I`ll kill you all."
Mozart warned against such an ethos,
Among many others, so do not blame
The culture as a whole,
Any more than the bang-planes flung
Over at New York, should be attributed
To something essentially Islamic.



Shrub and Binny looked into
A foul mirror and saw
Each other just the same as they
Appear to others;  very angry
They were again, even more, even more;
They held the world to total hostage,
While civilians by the millions suffered in Afghanistan,
And Blair bleeped from his dry mouth,
And witches and wizards and angels and demons
In all the caves of all humanity
Wrung their wrists and howled their sparks and flames
Into the Phoenixes and Frankensteins
That grew from the ashes and misery,
Waiting to do so much more harm
To Yorkie Porkie, Pudding New,
Once they get the chance.
"O how many thousands do you want to die,
Before you feel satisfied?"




But that is not only how it is,
Bin Laden has disappeared;
Chaos theory of resentment
Spun into that terrorist attack;
Now we have a vast mayhem,
And none of the creeps are in control.
But Shrublair can keep on bombing
People in Afghanistan.




Imagination closes down
When Nations go to war;
Reasons, motives, logic,
All disappear in dust and ashes.

"How many people may we kill?"
"What are we doing this for?'
"Will the killing ensure the cause for which we fight?"
And, "Exactly what is that cause?"

At first these questions are meekly posed,
Whatever happens is right,
Deepest conformity of the human soul
Grabs at the solar plexus.
But in time, death becomes and seems
What it really is;
Tissues of lies fall into chaos:
Reality emerges, as
Madness, stupidity, murder.




Bush and Blair are mad and evil,
Their "moral fibre" is insane,
How brave is it to watch bombs
Kill women and children in poor villages
In sad Afghanistan?
They fell into Bin Laden`s trap
And showed exactly how right he was
That the West is a vile psychopath,
With its tit for tat in Holy Writ,
Just like Israel over endless decades:
"Kill and kill, we are always right!"




CARNAGE AND REBELLION





Blair
You can go to fucking hell,
You will  go to fucking hell.
Right now, in my mind, you roast in hell,
With all your "moral fibres", and all your lies.
O how you led us up a hellish path,
Something New, Yeah?  Bombing Afghanistan,
You ghoulish, cowardly creep.

No real heart, and no real mind
Will agree with you, bombing people
In Afghanistan:
You are a lost, dead, dark soul,
Sold out to Bush and to vicious, deepest hell.

We need iron in our soul, Blair,
To oppose you.
You lie!  You cheat!  You deceive!
We, the people, do not want
YOU
To help AMERICA
Bomb AFGHANISTAN!

Now there must be
A Movement,
To set the fucking sky alight!
Ripping across the Nations:
Stop this fucking War!
It`s Time for a huge Rebellion
Again
Against all this, this hopeless
aggression
and greed,
Time for the West to get a big kick
Up its lying, complacent arse;
>From within,
>From us!
You have unleashed
Something you did not understand,
Watch out old fool!
The kids will come again,
And they will rip your vanity down,
Chuck your citadels of lies again
Into the sea!
You wicked, self-satisfied, pompous swine,
You will snort and drown in your own manure!



Rage
Rage into this Night
Rage against this War
Rage against barbaric murder
With machines of Western Technology!

Why no bombing after seven thousand
Were massacred in Srebrenica?
Of course, sorry, they were Bosnians,
Not Americans.
I forgot.




Shrub, Binny Lad, and Hot Blair,
Were dancing a lovely jig,
Perched on the edge of a precipace,
Each sought to become a pig.

Each one, he saw a sacred thing
And strove to gain or kill it,
Trouble was, their determination
Meant all the world fell into a pit.

Now Bosh and Blue and Bon Le Dent,
Were truly three musketeers,
You could not know who caused more harm
Or lied the most, between them.

Bosh and Blue scoured the caves
Of dark Afghanistan,
To find Le Dent, but he had gone
To float upon other waves.
And anyway, he did not wish
To live very long at all,
He craved a martyr`s death, once he,
Had started a Holy War.

Like Bosh and Blue, he also wanted
To be so very sacred;
Though they  did not want to die, because
They awaited fresh elections!

Binny Le Dent he knew he had planted
Huge numbers of dragons` teeth,
And these would sprout as warriors
For many generations more!




MY COUNTRY




The air here smells dirty,
Now this land is at war,
Unjust war, mere murder, death,-
My country that would not fight
To stop genocide in Bosnia,
Now it bombs with America,
Innocent, poor civilians,
And makes millions homeless,
Starves millions in misery,
Whilst pretending to "resolve conflicts."
Bin Laden is a mere excuse
For viciousness and Blair`s jaunts,
Nothing will be solved,
Though many many more will join
The hatred towards us here.
Horrible it is to be a citizen
Of this misled land,
This misruled, stupid land,
Once again it has been plunged
Into ugly, unjust hell.





This fractious isle
That has no emeralds
But for its bullying, ignorant bullets

It knows nothing of love or peace;
Only a few dissidents occasionally counter orthodoxy
With strange ideas.

This island cannot teach people anywhere:
Wave your arms dramatically, Blair,
You stir more hatred than you blurr.

Try shutting your mouth and listening to birds
Like stoned Saint Francis should have done:
Your head is full of dire rubbish.
This, my isle, gruesomely held
In ignorance, arrogance, aggression, and greed;
Leaders always, of every hue,
Follow the same dismal creed;
The better sentiments are always buried
By bullying bastards who run the screed.




Oh lament I, in such pain,
To have my country joined unto
This evil of hatred and unsubtle means,
It eats into my deepest being,
I cannot sleep, or dream, or feel
Happiness at all in this autumnal air,
O how bad it is to bomb,
When all the world is so afraid,
When murder is anyway all that many
Can see to do:  thus to multiply
Thousands of times over, such vicious hell!




Sarcastic, cynical prats
Sneering, sniggering louts
Are all we have to present our cry
In this wonderful, empty, "free" land.




Is it the black flame of the mad god,
Whose hiss we hear through the calm
But vile words of the Archbishop of Cunt,
Who claims the "conflict" in Afghanistan is necessary
And just?  Or is it no more than that old hypocrisy,
British Conservatism at Prayer,
The effete, polite, affected Establishment
Of this isle, quite happy with shedding blood
Abroad, again and again?