be you,
but don’t you,
be you,
so much that we,
see you,
as a threat,
because we have a stake,
in your breaths,
of compliance,
and if you defy us,
we might turn them breaths,
into silence,
we’re the wolves of your reliance,
and our alliance,
was built on your lack of defiance,
so now,

be you,
but don’t you,
be true,
to he who,
questions everything that seems true,
because,
we will deem you,
and allow our regime to,
steal the heartbeat,
of what once gleamed true,
so now,

be you,
but don’t you,
dream too,
long,
as we require YOUR  reality
to sell OUR dream on,
as we conspire,
it’s in your interests to,
be quiet,
your outspoken nature,
= enticing a riot,
or at least that’s how we’ll sell it.

So be you,
by all means,
you be true,
to who you are,
but it won’t get you far -

we don’t require individuals
we like rituals
we like to keep expression
to a minimal
we reject the spiritual
for the physical
we like to keep clothing
to a minimal
we like subliminals
we like to appear mystical
and enchanting
to keep thought processes
minuscule
you’ll see us in schools
in work places
and Any place
there’s a trace
where the slot
doesn’t accommodate
someone’s face -

so,
be you,
by any means,
scream truth,
but see,
you will always succumb,
to who WE want YOU to be.

Over weight, plump face,
full plate, 
in front of your,
40 inch plasma,
the afore the size of your waist,
metaphorically and physically so:
as you gorge before
images of underprivileged folk,
as you waddle past skeletons,
on your High Street,
I hope your feet meet
the position of what your eyes see.

How is it, as the world turns
calories are burned quicker
somewhere in the third world,
While, in the West
there’s no time to digest,
before the next napkin
meets your chest?
Throw a penny into a box
and feel a lift in conscience,
Government sponsors,
only cross the palms of monsters,
as capitalism conquers.

Vultures prey on a jaded baby
in the haze of sunshine
and western aid slavery,
games played with the aid,
AIDS ravages the plains,
and who’s paid ?
The man sat back with a tall stack
and top hat,
stroking his cat,
That’s equally fat,
Let’s take a look at the contrast
His wife wants gold,

While HIS wife walks ten miles to a watering hole,
while her feet burn under the desert sun,
HER feet are  blistered from a night out of fun,
HIS feet are burning from a night on the pull,
While atrocities occur
The West are pulling the wool.
And I know what you’re gonna say
“Am I to blame?
For being born where I was in the world,
is it my pain?
Why should I care?
Ain’t like it’s ever gonna change…”

And that’s exactly the attitude that put us here in the first place.

Freedom engulfs,
forests of fakery,
in flames of fury,
blame the jury.
Blatantly backward
but claiming surely
proclaiming the stance of master.
Faster, I race towards a pace of liberated factors
which propel me from slavery
into the hear, after.

Courts and societal stages
notoriety rages
upon the races of the young and aged.
Upon their faces,
emaciated traces
of abundance in hatred
and a lack of what’s sacred.

While we waited,
they pushed their agenda,
the chances were slender
we’d ever remember.
Through indoctrination,
fake emancipation
illusions plaguing
the brains of a,
28 days later nation
intoxicated on,

viral asphyxiation,
A junkfood education.
The same level at graduation,
subjecting a generation
to excruciating payments.
I watch with a saint’s patience
and ponder with gallaleo gazes,

With the rage of a billion men
On death row,
My breath slow,
Eyes bloodshot
with anger, towards said foe,
I watch, in amazement
as you
lose control,
as you lose control of me,
Internally combust at thought of,

ME,
being free.
Your power gain,
was power loss,
at the cost of shots,
from my own pistol
firing,

blocked bullet in barrel,
blood upon apparel,
from erosive explosions,
eroding the fallacy,
fingertips slip
and tentacles drip
the hypnosis missed,
inside is the anarchy.
Inside is the animal,
The mammal I am.

Locked inside the clothes,
you impose upon man.
Locked inside the codes,
you impose upon man,
I oppose those frozen in courts upon man.
Legislative lies,
like liquorice ties,

No more real than the Lord of the Flies.
Pantomime time,
from nine until five.
Set stage up,
soldiers in line,
cogs grind,
but a lack of motion of those in mind
stand in line.
I decline the invite,
which entices consent of mine.

Dedicated to Alexander Supertramp

You saw this,
blatant brainwash,
bestowed upon,
the balding fatcat
we call society,
and the fire in your soul,
burnt holes
in the notes you donated
to charity.

Yearning that,
which is at the core of every human spirit,
Only difference is,
was what you did with it.
Scissor blades hacking through
your false identity,
knowing there was more to your entity,
Than a quick fix remedy.

Dusty roads,
through deserts
of destitute disciples,
where you met others just like you,
who embodied their vehicles of freedom,
although,
your steering
was nowhere near them.

Your destiny, a free man,
living off the land,
to actually be… man.
Not person, or legal fiction,
To feel the friction,
of bare feet in the earth,
grounded, rooted,
in the description
of which we never really get to grips with…

Freedom,
searching for yourself,
in reflections of ripples
of the open rivers.
Alone on a bus with no motion,
potent shivers,
Happiness means nothing,
if it isn’t shared.

And society punishes,
those who leave her,
the herd,
sombre sunrises, sunsets of solitude,
your rice bag conspires
against your good fortune,
as you forage,
beauty of knowledge.

Nature shows the beast she conceals,
maggots infest your meals,
the hunger,
disorientated by the thunder,
one mistake…
wrong page,
lying alone watching heaven,
rigid in pain, counting seconds.
Has life ever looked so beautiful…?