Capitalism used to work
by the simple promise of a carrot,
the joys of being wealthier than others
promotion, promotion, promotion,
but the carat has lost its lustre
and now a stick has to be used as well,
this stick takes the form of a war on the poor
to be witchunted, scapegoated and demonised,
in these times of crisis and deep trouble
as they get out their scissors, and cut, cut, cut,
to numb peoples senses, distract us with unreason
broken and beaten, dishevelled and divided,
in a continual ideological game of attrition
making us walk the path of least resistance,
if I was a violent man, I'd stand outside and fight
but all I can muster is a slow dance,
as I gather up some moist crumbs of happiness
and with some simple words feed survival,
tomorrow, I will look and seek safe asylum
remember the victims who have no knowledge of the future,
in December's receding days of calamity and fear
follow horizon engraved with the pulse of struggle,
awake and embrace a new dawn, plant some flares in the mist
gather the truth deep inside, hoping dreams get better for all.
