Elites
Bastards of profit, men of war. Stinking in their fresh clothes and only they know what we are fighting for.
A couple of poems, scum off the top of my mind. How I stay fresh. Got to remove the dross …. give a toss …
ELITES
They don’t care which side you’re on.
They don’t care what you don’t or don’t do.
These men of war with their cigars and finery.
These men of war with their morals and wineries.
They don’t care as long as they are getting theirs.
They don’t care as long as the checks keep coming in.
They don’t care about peace, love and community.
They don’t care, it’s not in their immunity.
Just handouts for us all.
Give them a shovel. Give them some bread.
Give them a little entertainment.
Give them fear, fear instead.
These men of war with their stocks and our bonds.
These men of war with yachts and manicured lawns.
You, me, the men that walk the street and buy their own groceries
You, me, the women that work the counters or do their own hair.
They don’t care. They allow us to die to make them proud
with their battles, medals and pompadoo
with their strategies and to us — a big fuck you.
Tend your own garden. Hug those near.
When the elites with their fancy ideas come knockin’
ignore, stay clear.
Simplicity is truly what they fear.
These men of war with their tin souls and lies.
These men of war never living, full of good-byes.
BASTARDS OF PROFIT
Hey, you!
You bastards of profit
with your ledger sheets
with your fine clothes
with your private jets
with your puppet master's thoughts
with your copy of Conde Nest
with your deep wish to be loved.
I just want you to know
I see behind your show
and if I had claws
I’d rip you to shreds,
you Wizards of Oz.
You sell us satin dreams.
Dreams that you’ll never reveal.
You buy up our time to see how it feels.
It’s not on the books
cuz you control them too
but still, it’s a crime,
j’accuse you!
You bastards of profit
buying souls like you would can food
making us fear each other
like only evil could.
You bastards of war
selling people like pornography.
Unfortunately, you’ll never sell me.
I see through your slogans and speeches.
One day when your stock has fallen,
one day alone
in your dark basement, you hide
with your money by your side
nothing that it can buy,
one day I’ll shine a light
onto your beady eyes,
watch you disappear
into a darker corner
of a world, you’ve always despised.
You bastards of profit.