Tuesday, 13 August 2013

Modern Living

The short lived rebellion
Ended with a television set thrown out of the window
The crash after falling thirty floors to certain doom
And meth-fuelled dreams of Jesus
Punctuated by a million laughs that could be screams

There are lurid murals on subway walls
And on the trains themselves
Suicidal artists, dreamers of the modern world
Shoplifting C4 in their pockets drawing attention
To their onerous Gods

And behold, black lipped and black eyed
Entranced wannabe Goths
Nodding sleepily under mops of lank hair
Drawing their blood, imperfect crimson jewels
Cries of anguish, cries of help

And through this all, running the gauntlet between
Truth and certain destruction
Neither saint, nor sinner; imperfectly perfect
He hangs his hat on his sense of justice
But keeps his gun loaded... just in case

This is modern living
This is the promise of our progress
This, the dream
We've come so far, the circle is nearly complete
But the door is closed
We flock to our casinos for religious instruction
Our banks for penance
And then we come home to numb our senses
And forget the lesson we've learned
After all, it is always someone else's fault
And we can point the finger of blame
That's the modern way, litigate, assassinate
Money lubricates the way
There are the haves, and the have nots
Those that give, those that take
And those who'd offer their souls for gold
When their liberties are at stake.