I thought some of you may be interested in what we’re singing.

Exit Strategies

In the shadow of races to divide them thick and fast, and of encouraged occupation, their splintered past leaves nothing more than the insidious groundwork for extremist forces to breed where the cracks were born. And those who have blind faith in proxy wars abate all conceivable opportunities to resolve. I know I’m not alone as I’m pained to see entire generations lacking any memory of anything outside of war and strife. Beyond our comprehension of their plight. Signals crossed, collision paths, static screams, and splintered seams. Lives are inexpensive, but when is payment ever due? Wars abroad will end at home. The motives and manoeuvres will always vary and diverge to conduct western liturgies. Wars abroad will always end at home. Our delusions diminish our ability to distinguish windows from TV screens.

Those Glory Days

“You say culture, I reach for my gun” he said. Longstanding battle-cries which refuse to die, or just the residue of a once vengeful god? I heard your kingdom’s waiting for the forceful ones. At war with mirrors, as you preach to us. Between the soulless highways, closed plantations and malls lies rage and dislocated despair. The final litmus test as we crave comfort in certitude and moral absolutes. As we retreat to plains that no argument can pierce or refute. “They’re in our sights – their pillbox entrenchments. We’re gaining fast.” In this binary world only inverted reflections of your image is cast. So turn figurative lines into apocalyptic designs and feed your fantasies. But those fuzzy allegories won’t bring you glory or fulfil your needs. You’ll just resign the chaos of human life and responsibility to despotic potentates. Your conscience assuaged. Quest for power complete.

We Blew Her To Pieces

Your actions profile fear and sentiments of self worth. I guess you’ve no worries of human abasement when you’re bunkered below the earth. Aimed in crucial ways to make civilians pay. Now cue the slew of Fox paper-shredders whose figures corroborate. Buried deep in soil and under articles with more weight. Issue engagement rules card as standard – you couldn’t even cut it straight. But weasel words won’t save you this time. Damn those who choose to jaywalk to their graves. Arm innocent corpses and our reputation’s saved. And shame on you if don’t recognise the noble work of the heroes whose contracts provide extremely profitable campaigns in humanitarian crises – exempt from blame.

Failed Solutions

They’ll kick you to the ground or chase you out of here. Its fear that gets us every time, our thoughts consistently sincere. I’ve staked my claim and for what its worth, spilled their blood in sacred earth. Continued, covert crimes and strife. Stand up straight, and do as best you can, make some moves to reach your land. But it makes no sense, nothings clear. Where’s your truth and what do you hold dear. Constant thoughts are bred by constant doubt. A lie once lived becomes the truth, another mandate to dilute. Now witness our ideals, all solutions have now failed, all ambition laid to rest. I’ve staked my claim, and for what its worth, spilled their blood in sacred earth.[Credit where credit is due! Dan Shannon wrote some of these lyrics and Lee expanded and arranged them.]

Settled Debts

The winners were scared in the wake of the debris – the upshot of contested legacies. But the rituals and monuments quickly diminished any consequence. As we balanced their books, our pages were torn and the carnage fused as millions mourned. These symbols we’ve come to wear are tainted by despair and by the forces who can only feign virtue. Not just to fake or glorify. No necessary sacrifice. Vultures return to where they once nursed. Ripping flesh from bone, they feed. This is our economy unleashed.

Concrete

Unconscious in a hospital bed his legacy alive as we ring in yet another “man of peace”. It seems all paths lead to this paradox. Linguistic roadmaps – diverted traffic is the only aim of his cheap talk. So many short fuses on city buses but retaliation only fuels a “right to defend and protect” against what they instigated too. Simulated peace offers are what they display and convenient myths are recounted to those who question what they say. Again we come full circle in this effort to prolong another iteration of what’s happened for too long. And those overt targeted killings are dressed up but the corpses tell the true story. Fingers crossed for an implosion. Lone shots to the forehead don’t indicate the impact of a bomb blast. Fingers crossed for an implosion. A simple demand for reciprocity surely requires you to first concede.

Elevator To Hell

And onward we strike. Single minded and blessed by god. And more misinformation broadcast from subjective networks. Bought and paid for. We stand against a right wing ruling class where economy presides. We stand against a young workforce cut down. No resolutions offered here. We strike. In chorus we resound. We are. We are. We strike.

Concision

No tears shed for balance. No sleep lost for expansion or reflection. Profits high for ranges low. Scope for thought was bad business. A valid single source? Restriction of knowledge on a grand scale but that’s good business. A greater understanding you can take it as gospel what a shining example of a free press. Concede to FNC verdicts. Their framework sets out perspectives. Provide the right point of view. Loss of diversity assimilated carbon copy news. Platforms for conservative capitalist rhetoric carefully fed and hand picked stories. Remodel events in its wake concision abate. We don’t need to listen. What a worrying premise bite sized opinion provided gratis. News producing bodies which hinge on financial backing and influence of a wealthy elite. It’s hard to get a full picture when (ultimately) one concern prevails: profit. White puritanical arrogance and an abundance of one liners. Sports!? This is not the news. Arranged in concise small boxes and spun in familiar directions. Competing alternate sources same difference same flaws same purpose.

A Turning Point

Here’s a trophy for your achievements, for empty gestures. We’re in awe of your stardom and raptured by ignorance. How much more can be done to sustain this iron lung, to prescribe these practices, to maintain these cenotaphs? Is this another turning point?

Bearing and Distance

So we sit tight at the feet of nail biters and thieves as the plans are set in stone by the indispensible. We’re under siege. Our lives on hold for spectacle and old routines, consumed by cold war myths and fallacies. You may not know the acts done in your name but on the receiving end they know your prostrations all too well. They can’t be written off as unintended costs or the price to end your outrage. To face facts against doubt, or to make bets as this house burns out.  Just the by-products of intentions obscured by conflict. Acts to malign fictitious foes with comforting rubrics. Such comforting rubrics. I guess we’re all just waiting for reality to hit. The unspoken is no less real. The recognition of the enduring struggles that short memories omit.  It may take longer for the afflictions to take hold, but in the end you reap what you sow. The unspoken is no less real.

Backbrace

You’ll excuse me if I don’t wipe my feet. This won’t take long. I’m here to take away your family. You should have never picked a fight. You should really get your head checked properly. That won’t take long. You shouldn’t ask for my respect. There’s a sickness that can’t be named a sickness that your hold dear. No there’ll be no respect for you why should there be. I’m here to rip you from your back brace. You never saw it coming.

Increments

It took strength to do what you did – to cross countless miles and countless seas, to escape this mess, to leave behind the work of cowards with arms. The burden of the dead and the left behind remain to still play on your mind as you run. Stripped of everything but your dignity inside.
Sometimes reality cuts through like knives. But hope remains. Isolation awaits.  Not some awkward point between fixed states of departure and arrival dates. And you will be left with anger, threats of vengence, justice, raids. Here destruction’s less cosmetic but perception still pervades. With strength, relocate. They don’t sleep because they know their futures. Move forward and carve out your path with strength. Don’t let your story die out. What happened must be told.

Unending Tasks:

Her tone tramples them all down in the end. Her discourse resounds and it’s brutal. In desperation you try not to drown. A pitiless breathless message of dissent. The turning point is here, at the summit pointing west. Cast in their roles, underscored rights, wrapped in violence, torn right apart. Her life stained by severed ties and history provides a brand anticipated and debated for her crimes. All dimension lost in the fanfare. But it’s something to question aggressive means in such incendiary times with leaders with their ears to the door. Their thoughts dissolved her to denigration, a force that rocked foundations. All dimension lost in the fanfare.

Shifts

This is the moment where we turn to face ourselves. Within these sprawling corridors, these crowded halls, amongst impenetrable texts. Passivity and despair. All assertions worn well thin, all accusations tired and stale, we’ll roll out every farfetched myth around just to resist constraint. Those days are gone. Our days are numbered. Our senses numbed. This arrogance tramples down all opposing interests. Now, with the battle lines redrawn, and yet more to kick against, life as we know it hangs upon our expansion or restraint. What do we have left? Should we just hold our breath and wait for promised lands or empty threats to fulfil, make or break us? Those voices just impede the motivations that we need to stop the comforting paralysis that breeds. I can’t let the testament of a few pathetic men sign off on destruction and this insane mess we’re in. Those days are gone and our senses numbed. But arrogance convinces us.

Dynamite

With our hands on our hearts, we swear that you would never fit in. The conversation was never that bad, but you were never tuned in. A recent assessment of your character means you are no longer welcome. A Feeling. A Reaction. Feigned interests, false convictions, a disgrace. You lied so many times about your moral obligations. Its true, those boys are dynamite (those boys are dynamite). Tonight we’ll put the world to rights, those boys are dynamite. We always said that you would never fit in, we’ve been proved right. We’ve made plans to go out, and you’re not invited.

Stockholm

What’s going on? I see another blot on the horizon. Amongst the parked cars, amongst the living. A bullet with your name on, so what’s going on, so what’s the point, are we worth saving? We’re setting out. Amongst the screaming, amongst the crowd, mistakes were made, and no regrets; a barrier. A fine line, the fine print on a letter sent. Mistakes were made and no regrets for the plans laid, another barrier create. What’s the matter? You look like you remember. Don’t worry about the wolf criers, there are plenty more buildings and plenty more planes. Amongst the screaming, amongst the crowd, mistakes were made, and no regrets; a barrier. A fine line, the fine print on a letter sent. Mistakes were made and no regrets for the plans laid, another barrier create. By the grace of god project homogenized lifestyles from uneasy stations. By the grace of god we’ll build a watch tower, a shining city on a hill. Nothing preoccupies the soul when you’re united in celebrating our glorious dead.