What a lot of traffic on a Sunday night! All the grim-faced drivers, making quite a sight. They swerve and race and dash, Looks like they might have a crash. I hide behind the lamppost.
This took place on a traffic island on Leicester's inner ring road, where I had an
unusually close view of high speed traffic. People were making some dodgy lane changes.
A Government scientist has given us the news, That a handful have died from over-doing ecstasy. How many have died from over-doing hard booze? That is something he does not say: The State he works for is in booze-pushers' pay. Such men of science are up for rent, The work they do is pretty bent. If they tell the truth they get the sack. A scientist who has different views, Is quite unlikely to get in the news.
The human race Is far from grace; Minds clouded by unreason. We mock the manners of the lower class, A behaviour that itself is crass; A folly that's increasing. We demand our privacy, But then install CCTV; Take comfort from sly peeping. We claim respect for age Then shove them off life's stage; Allow hospitals' grim reaping. No water for the old and sick, They call it care but take the mick; Their consciences are sleeping.
The last two verses are a comment on the Liverpool Care Pathway
Also related: The Human Condition - Part II
Everyone loves a murder yarn, The news is choc-a-bloc with them. Shooting, stabbing, strangling in turn, Each carried out with casual phlegm. Whence comes our fascination With every kind of brutal tale? In spite of daily repetition The attraction never seems to fail. We care far less for other dooms, Which really ought to matter more. Slow changes to our environment Give results quite like a sea of gore.
In other countries they make crank, But we're too deeply ignorant. They make it in the kitchen sink, Stoutly endure the hellish stink, To get a high that's very cheap. It seems that they know chemistry, But Britons find that far too deep, So we pay loads for what's nearly free In cultured lands across the sea. Abusing crank makes your teeth fall out, And puts your overall health in doubt, So maybe our stupidity Turns out, in practice, luckily.
Crank is a slang term for methamphetamine, a.k.a. crystal meth, clear, glass etc.
I read on the BBC website that we alone don't have a problem with it, because it
is very expensive here. They suggested this was due to unavailability of the
chemicals. Yeah, that'll be right. You can't get chemicals in Britain. I am advancing an alternative theory. Science and engineering are in sad
decline in this country. Usually it's tragic, but not in this instance.
On a similar topic: Getting High
Taking the Cemetery Short-cut on a Damp Day Cool rain brings freshness. Tall stones glisten. Pattering leaves above. I wait beneath the canopy, Amongst the quiet dead. No deluge comes. Drops cool upon my head, Bring me no pain. Soft summer rain. The council cuts, And yet does not: Wild weeds abound. The dead surround. They feel no pain, In soft summer rain. Thin in plastic clothes, His mind senses cold. In shirtsleeves, A plump man shivers. Expectation prevails. I don't feel pain, From soft summer rain.
When the Zeitgeist Is a shite geist How to keep from really caring? The loudmouth fools Keep spouting bull They can't seem to keep from sharing. This world is cracked It's all an act The endless flow of cant is wearing. Fools mock and sneer, I smell their fear Their lack of inner truth is glaring. They're full of hate Their rantings grate To speak the truth would be too daring. Freedom's their boast In fact it's toast The future looks so harsh it's scaring. We've lost our past It's dying fast The young find all this crap ensnaring. I look inside My speech elide The only way to hold my bearing. I guard my tongue, Curb thoughts far flung, Try not to grieve at this world's faring.
"When the world is running down,
You make the best of what's still around." - Sting
See also:Durance Vile