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Private Gold

The sign up in the shop announced the brand new owners
They tried to sell me shares in what I’d nurtured
No, I wasn’t scared
Yes, I wad disgusted
They tried to sell me part of what we shared

Everyone was faking illness to hide a great depression,
to go to talk to doctor about things

Let me out of your shadow
Let me see what else there is
Take me down to El Dorado
Where the air is fresh and clean

Well, the hacks had stopped reporting
They were making out their lists:
20 boasts, 20 thrills, 20 lies,
while the party just died

There was still that cut above us,
those fine, fearless investors
They paint their pretty futures
as I left

So, keeper, take my keys back
and my right to be denied
and I’ll scribble in the margins
for the sleepers:

Let me out of your shadow
Let me see what else there is
Take me down to El Dorado
Where the air is fresh and clean

Out on the Dust Farm

They don’t like monochrome,
it’s abstract and it’s boring
Their colour is a one-and-zero scheme,
a melodrama of appearance and event,
a surface entropy, a corpse’s dream
out on the dust farm.

No haunting, melancholy requiem for culture
will bring the masses any sleepless nights
The bitter taste of learning is all too sweet for vultures,
but has it brought us any sacred rights
out on the dust farm?

"The government has announced a 47 billion dollar plan for the construction of three new dust farms. Culture and Industry minister, John Snide, said today that new dust technology would allow for the production of around seven million tons a year of dust-based articles. These will be retailed as literature, popular cinema, and music to a public increasingly aware of the threat posed by intellectuals and artists. Meanwhile, dust farms are taking off in the United States of the Middle East…"

America is Sleeping

America is sleeping and obese
Take it easy,
take it easy
It’s rolling in the astral grease
of its banquets
in the east
All day,
All night,
America is sleeping

America is sleeping as it dreams
of evil genies
in Levi jeans
It shivers in the night of its excess

America is sleeping.
America is sleeping.