leave me here, alone, i beg of you, take away the day light

A terrible wind blows in
through the dens open window.
The smell of freshness hitches a ride
as spring burns brightly on board,
lingering around with the winter night.
As the snow is quickly melts
we herd together like sheep
and head out like lemurs
into the street and its newly
born happiness caused by
the longer lasting sun.

In this era of men, in this country
we've fought to keep tucked away
from danger, we enjoy
nothing more than the finer
things in life, like white noise silence.

Television sets remain forever
the new aged babysitter;
a young mistress to kiss goodnight
our children for the bitter, lonely night.

We aren't alone, however,
as the rooster cocks away
at the window sills boarder,
radio and newspapers are there
to say good-morning, to sing praises
of the horrors that happened as we
slept peacefully through another
round of nightmarish heavens.

We are reprogrammed almost daily
as we read our horoscopes, our eyes
dilute into a blank-empty stare
as we realise, with daunting horror
that we truly aren't free;
shackled and bound to fates misery.


All those murders we claimed honourable
as the tendency to justify
our actions and history
of tremendously,
and constantly,
accumulating score
sheet of unneccessary war-
just to claim to anyone in particular
that we are men born free.

Little did we, or they know,
nor how could they have
with out the help of a sage
to see the future clearly
could they have forseen
this age of tangled wires
and wrists begging
to retire, to be slit in season
of the villages pillage-
ya, we aren't really free.
This world we see
it comes with a price to pay,
don't you see-
the blood shed is blood won
for the oil we burn daily.

Need the energy
to develop this years
new gadget, the gizmo
to end all gadgets.
Mini-microchips regret
the slow progression that
they had originally started
off at- before they designed
themselves at light speed.
Now we enslaved
ourselves with electric delight.

Work seven days a week
just so I don't feel weak
or fable in my meak
ability to go and pick
out a soul mate or fake
a smile over the make
believe, artificial
happiness that they take
and take from us,
without selling us stock.

No share do they offer
us in order to hoard us together
like sheep awaiting slaughter;
I just shrug it off with laughter
as I try to remember
yesterday and it's wonder.
The bright tomorrows still in store
for us, before boredom broke
into our lives, and stole
all we could manage to store
in our imagination-
now I work and work
just so I can't be idol
any longer without
some sort of item
being purchased to cheer
me up, to fix what isn't broken.