Going Nowhere

Going nowhere, going somewhere, keep walking it’s an alternative job. Kick the wideboys and poverty payers this country needs more than players in the game, workers as counters divide and spread. The one thing that is forgotten when you are out of luck, it’s rotten like the tomatoes you won’t eat. A look and a stare gone are the days of UB40 they are no more and so to UC we go nothing has changed as some shout bring back Maggie.

The Seat

The seat we didn’t go to for judgment, we went for calm, ah we are the sheep that follow told to believe when murder and hate were on the loose, no peace, the fuse had gone. So death and destruction occurred one last way, out to the light. Upon the trial of a white pathway miles more than you could ever see or imagine.

The Seat

The seat we didn’t go to for judgment, we went for calm, ah we are the sheep that follow told to believe when murder and hate were on the loose, no peace, the fuse had gone. So death and destruction occurred one last way, out to the light. Upon the trail of a white pathway miles more than you could ever see or imagine.

Me To Mine

Me to mine, my thoughts need an exhaustive cleaning. Too much dirt I cannot live without the purity, I seek upon new pasture like a grazing bovine. I need new pasture so I can chew things over till I decide how to survive and indeed I ask myself is it worth it, as the bastards grind me down or try they won’t succeed tell that to the universe, oh yes the force is on the move.

To Hell In A Handcart

The Warrior of Poetry says we are all going to hell in a handcart, is that what you feel. Is it all for real this madness you feel, raise your arms sense is that bolt of electricity really going through you? I feel we are in shock we are now subverted, how do you feel is it real is this the deal to get you going, are you all mad enough to change the world at this moment in the power of now, do you want to know how to stick around something will tell you, take a ride on the golden bullet train to nowhere, me, myself and I are going off the grid.

The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive