Listening
Listening, and we’re listening
To the ones who scream,
Hidden by the pounding sounds of the traffic.
We’re listening
To the Blackness in the dream,
Hidden by the screams of this nightmare.
And it’s getting louder.
People, we’re getting louder.
People, we’re turning round,
Crumbling the buildings to the very ground.
And we’re feeling
The unsteady feel,
The breaking of the seal of unconsciousness.
Listening.
And we’re breaking the dawn,
For this morning there’s a different sound.
Keeping our ears to the well-trodden ground,
We’re angry with the pain we hear.
There’s an insecure feel in the air.
Because we’re listening,
Like wolves in the dark,
Eagles in the sky.
Driven like cattle,
Ears to the ground.
We can hear the water.
We need water.
We need to quench our thirst.
But we’re listening first.
Cautious as cats,
Punished as dogs,
We can hear the water.
The priest chants.
The congregation turn their heads.
The politician rants.
The people turn their heads.
Muffled screams and whispers,
Pointing fingers,
While the silence crawls from the inner city towns
And holds them in the fist of suspense,
And holds them
waiting
waiting
waiting
For the gutters to run with blood
And the sweet taste of victory in the mouths of the downtrodden.
And if you don’t keep listening
You’ll be caught unawares.
We’re listening.
We’re listening.
We’re listening.
Nursery Rhyme
Humpty Dumpty was pushed,
But propaganda played its part.
And Little Jack Horner was paranoid,
One word would lose his heart.
So he pulled out a plum instead
To save his self from winding up dead.
He knew all the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Would never put Humpty together again.
Some Quotes from Neatherton Man Found in Deepest England Somewhere between 1974 and 1980
All the same.
Wogs go home.
Chalky, living in a blackboard.
Golly, it’s a jam.
Toby, your name is Toby.
Monkey, lamppost swinger,
Hair like a sponge.
For breakfast
A bowl of coonflakes.
For tea
Coon on the cob.
Wipe off the coondensation.
Paki.
You’re all right, but the other niggers . . .
Wog. Stay at home.
Nigger, wog, nigger.
Stab a nigger.
Rubber lips.
Splatted noses.
You can’t give a black eye
To a black bastard.
Jungle bunny, go home.
Black girls are prostitutes.
Pakis smell of shit.
Get a wash, Paki.
NF. Wogs go home.
BNP. Give them a whitewash.
All good cricketers,
All fast runners.
It’s because they run through the jungle.
As thin as an Ethiopian,
Poor as a Cambodian.
Kunta.
Your name is Toby.
Pink tongues, bright pink.
They’ve got white hands.
Big Black ugly nigger feet.
Tell us the one about the sambo.
Haven’t I seen you on a jam jar?
Light his hair, it won’t hurt his head.
Throw stones at his hair, it won’t hurt.
Wipe fingers on coon’s face.
Does it come off?
It’s stuck on.
They take our jobs,
They take our women,
Send them home.
Wogs, go home.
Coons, go home.
Negotiations
For the radical faction to change the constitution
They should take their allegations to the institution.
So we took our allegations with a big bag of patience
Before we even met we felt the pain of prejudgement.
So we set up a meeting and gave the standard greeting
And if vibes could harm us we’d have got a good beating.
But the minutes were restricted and the picture they depicted
Was nothing but a smutter of the things we had presented.
But onward we went with constructive intention,
Keeping our strengths from personal friction.
But keeping the prevention of personal pretension
Was keeping construction in total detention,
Resulting in destruction and bad vibrations.
And a cut in the bag that was holding the patience,
And a cut in the bag that was holding the patience,
And a cut in the bag that was holding the patience.