who is the fool?

who is the fool,
tell me, who could it be?
the foolish, blind king,
or those who believe he can see?

who is the fool,
tell me, who could it be?
is it the fool of a king,
or is it you and also me?

untitled

the old blind owl took a peak
to see what he could see
but it was dark again that day
so he saw only as much as you and me

opening the eyes is not enough
as is the idea of sight to the blind
what one cannot see
can very rarely enter the mind

less than simple

it’s when the defect strikes
and it all goes wrong
that little slip
which goes on and on
repeating itself
for all to see
the beginning of the end
for you and me

but we think just enough
to believe we know more
so we cover the glitch
we patch over the flaw
and we all raise one voice
in a united song
we talk to ourselves
saying nothing went wrong

we rewrite the maps
we alter the course
celebrating aloud
that it stopped getting worse
but just underneath
where the eye cannot see
is the future we’ve made
that we’re too blind to see

truth strikes a mortal blow

have a heart for the prophet

the poor beggar who lives with us

he claims to hear

and speak for God

the creator

or the universe

but he is employed by man

*
the poor are easily discerned

but only with much difficulty

even though they stagger

stumbling, falling in the streets

we trip over them

not seeing them lying there

unable to look them in the eye

*

we all gaze in the mirror

without really looking to see

lest we see what we’re looking at

and the truth strikes a mortal blow

*
the stomach speaks louder than the mouth

though it has no voice, it shouts

… indeed, it roars

the cost of freedom

no one who chooses freedom pays a price

freedom is priceless,

it cannot be bought…

staying blind

whether intentionally or not

now, that’s costly

starting with your freedom

and then everything else

you never knew you once had

it is time

who do warriors turn to when they drop their swords and fall,

and who will pick up the double edged weapons and return to them their honour?

when the hearts of the people are locked in their own distended bellies

and the words of the prophets are willingly captive to the thoughts of the thoughtless

is it then finally time for the stones to scream out?

and the rocks to shatter under the relentless gaze of the angry sun?

for the water to evaporate before it touches the soil

and for the children to be dead before they are born?

when mankind celebrates high noon in the dead of midnight

and turns into victory the stench of suicidal defeat

it is time gentlemen, it is time!

a song of the blade

democracy, democracy, if you please

the very thought of you brings me to my knees

I see and hear the groundswell of the masses beyond

it makes me question the path we are on

it’s this rule of thumb that renders me numb

that executive choice is offered to everyone

to escape from the regime of the previous hater

we lower decision making power to the lowest common denominator

capitalising on our primitive need to feel we belong

we are led in a hopeful chorus, a most pitiful song

and we dance to the promises based on stories we’re told

of a life in the future, far away from the struggles of old

but we need something to believe, and believe it we do

so we fall in a trap set for me and for you

the masses subdued, suppressed and confused

raise an uneducated voice, keeping ourselves amused

believing we can decide on the great master plan

we sell our souls and those of our children to some unscrupolous man

who smiles on the TV, the posters, and waves to the crowds

yet hugs with a blade in his hand when he wraps his arms round

and the warmth that we feel as we embrace this venomous man

is the life blood that we bleed at his murderous hand

but he’ll smile once more again and wave to the crowd

dance and sing songs of freedom, getting frighteningly loud

to silence our thinking, and the pain that we feel

pointing to a far away future that grows more and more unreal

with our eyes shut tight no one can blind us

many a tear did flow

between the promise and the blow

a lie so sweet, so secure

who would have thought it was a lure?

so in the chorus line we stood

it sounded sweet, it felt so good

the bass grooved on and did its thing

man, that band could really swing

that was then, and this is now

the golden calf became a plow

and now it’s not even the Blues we sing

but a mournful dirge, with a sombre sting

for they spun a lyric filled with hope

from a stage with a scaffold and a stretch of rope

who would have known they dug us a hole

and we would be swinging from that pole

but hope is not lost and we goose step on

in endless pursuit of that evasive song

after all this is the day, humanity’s finest

with our eyes shut tight no one can blind us

intelligence services

the man bumbled on just like a lost bee
the more he looked the less he could see
so he closed his eyes and looked away
he wasn’t seeing anything new today
somewhere in the dark where light did not go
he found some stones that he could throw
into the dark the missiles flew
if he couldn’t see, then neither could you

under cover of light

under cover of light the darkness moves in

the mist is so thick

but the air it is thin

in plain site another card enters the pack

we look, turn away, but there’s no going back

instead we wait, and we watch

but we don’t see a thing

we have no idea of the state we are in