THE COLOR OF COAL.
The color of coal is not black it is gold,
Hewn from the ground then taken and sold.
Hewn from the earth to keep rich men from cold,
With never a lump for the sick and the old.
The color of coal is not black it is green.
Paid to investers who steal inbetween,
Paid to the bosses who own the machines,
But kept from the Boyo`s who sweat at the seam.
The color of coal is not black it is grey.
Worn on the skin like a bleak winters day,
Worn in the lungs as they start to decay,
Worn in a heart now the color of clay.
The color of coal is not black it is red.
Dyed by the miners who work till their dead.
Dyed by the orphans who scrabble for bread.
Dyed by the widows who cover their heads.
STARVATION ARMY
The starvation army gathers pennies on the street.
From unemployed workers with no place else to meet
And when they have their money they loudly do proclaim
That poverties ones own fault(or devil is to blame)
They point to wealthy bosses as proof of Gods kind heart
And tell you , you can join them if you only play your part
Work hard for your master and do not organize.
For Union propagander is only Satans lies.
You will eat by and by
Of that beautifull pie in the sky.
You will eat when you die,
In Gods canteen in heaven so high.
Overtime is the way to make it to be rich
Pulling switches for a living, that or dig a ditch.
Starting on the bottom rung,climbe upward to the top
Just like the bosses son did that usless bleeding fop.
Half an hour foodbreak and your stomach you must fill,
Not on Bosses Gourmet but on fast food swill.
No time to visit bathroom unless you dock some pay.
Building fiscal fortunes when you work a twelve hour day.
Lining up to eat
Lining up to eat.
We shall be rejoysing
Lining up to eat..
Working is a privalage,be thankfull that you can.
Says the young executive while working on his tan.
Theres millions more just like you,who`d kill ya for your job
So shut your gob and work hard or join the starving mob
Thank me for my charity by trying not to shirk.
Think of my investment as your sweating at your work.
Report the Commy unionist to security
And earn the thanks of me and mine and the company.
Onward Christian workers,
Slaving like a whore
With the cross of Bosses
Crawling on the floor.
Were the men who paved the way to make our profits great
Were the men of vision who put food on your plate.
And your the lowly peasant who lacks in lifes ambition
Blaming everybody else for your own condition.
What would you do without me,I help you through youlives
Cant you see the simple truth thats right before your eyes.
Iv got the might, Iv got the right and God is on my side
So stand in line like numbers and let me be your guide.
In platinum Palaces perched on high
In the land of Silk and Money.
Satin suited sons of riches lie
Spilling milk and honey.
Busy climbing scrotem poles
Of ivory torpid towers
To notice as they mind their gold
That they trampled all the flowers.
If money makes the world revolve
As we`ve heard it said.
Where is the joy in weilding wealth
When Gia`s gifts are dead.
I am constrained within the muse
Her Holy rythems I must use.
When urgancy dictates the pace,
With simple coupling must I race
No proof to offer do I hold
Except for purity of soul.
I do not clame a right to leed,
But to defend Her is my creed
From slumber long I have awoke
My task to help to lift the yolk.
Help set the Kelly Virgins free.
This Oath on Her I pledge to thee.
My life is all that I possess,
Its only purpose, Serve Goddess !!....................
SOHO STREETS.
Its midnight, way passed midnight and death is howling at the moon. Soho streets soaked red with wetlight as Sweeny sings his Siren tune.
Young sister penguin glides across the road, her legs are bowed. She is armed with black missle and a beaded rope.She prays on hope.
Thantos bee`s are big and black in their English country garden, Their codes are closed with sealing wax. Wardens for a plea of pardon.
Blue paddy wagons full of M.S.G.. They spill cold tea sincupating chopsticks in the rain. Just cutting Cain.
Sweeny spooks a silver dragon coz Li Ho Fook cant call the cops. Poor sister swims the Rubicon while taking notes for old Aesop.
In the gutter the sticky claret flows and stains the rose. Out of Habit sister smiles on Sweeny, Its C.O.D.
Sister passes out confessions, St Sweeny falls upon his knees. Old street cleaners form prossesions so dawn can set the darkness free.
