A Morality Play In Three Acts
Act one, the smell of green leather, French polish, quite pristine, not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle, not a crease, the silverware all clean. Exquisite chaussures grace marble floors, be upstanding, for men of yore. But wait, who's this, sticky under the collar in Elsinore? Enter silent comedy geek with dynamite down his pants. Nervous, shuffling on his feet, leading a merry song and dance. A back seat driver of good moral fibre, holding up the light. He's made his own bed, now he's got to lie in it. Ha ha! Serves him right.
Act two, a new New England, watch the good seed grow. But who is this miss out-of-wedlock, with children of her own? Enter witch finder general, of melancholy humor, and irascible power, all dressed in goody-goody two shoes, pulling the heads off flowers. 'Let this be,' said he, 'a lesson, your dirty linen is your own reflection.' Said I, 'Somehow it just doesn't wash, away with your petty inquisition. In the vernacular, most unkind sir, fuck with me and you will see the flesh and blood and bone, the black eye of thine enemy.' Dance, dance.
Act three, 'I am the lord of the dance,' said he. John the Baptist, dripping wet, playing sir politick-would-be. Backslapping, backsliding, back to basic instincs, backfiring. By your own choice you're on a hiding to nothing, I ask you which is more comforting? The thought that I am bad seed, gone to seed, turned sour by TV sex and violence. Or even worse, am I unleashed by my own volition to do you ill? 'Condemn a little more, understand a little less.' Oh sad sir, thou jest! Ha ha! I am Prometheus, prepare thee to meet thy nemesis!
- Chumbawumba
Don't Pray On Me
A grizzly scene on my electron beam
told a story about human rights,
so all the Kings horses and all the Kings men
had a riot for two days and nights
well, the city exploded
but the gates wouldn't open
so the company asked him to quit
now everybody's equal
just don't measure it
Well Hanson did it to Hester
and Mark David did it to John
and maybe Jack did it to Marilyn
but he did it to South Vietnam
for beauty and glory
for money, love and country
everybody's doing it,
don't do that to me
A bitter debate and a feminine fate
lie in tandem like two precious babes
while the former gets warmer
it's the latter that matters
except on the nation's airwaves
and custodians of public opinion
stayed back after vainly discussing her rights
lay hands off her body
it's not your fucking life!
Now I don't know what stopped Jesus Christ
from turning every hungry stone into bread
and I don't remember hearing how Moses reacted
when the innocent first born sons lay dead
well I guess God was a lot more demonstrative
back when he flamboyantly parted the sea,
now everybody's praying,
don't pray on me
- Bad Religion
The Ghost Of Tom Joad
Men walkin' long the railroad tracks
Goin' someplace there's no going back
Highway patrol choppers comin' up over the ridge
Hot soup on a campfire under the bridge
Shelter line stretchin' round the corner
Welcome to the new world order
Families sleepin' in their cars in the Southwest
No home no job no peace no rest
The highway is alive tonight
But nobody's kiddin' nobody about where it goes
I'm sittin' down here in the campfire light
Searchin' for the ghost of Tom Joad
He pulls a prayer book out of his sleeping bag
Preacher lights up a butt and takes a drag
Waitin for when the last shall be first and the first shall be last
In a cardboard box 'neath the underpass
Got a one-way ticket to the promised land
You got a hole in your belly and a gun in your hand
Sleeping on a pillow of solid rock
Bathin' in the city aqueduct
The highway is alive tonight
Where it's headed everybody knows
I'm sittin' down here in the campfire light
Waitin' on the ghost of Tom Joad
Now Tom said "Mom wherever there's a cop beatin' a guy
Wherever a newborn baby cries
Where there's a fight 'gainst the blood and hatred in the air
Look for me Mom I'll be there
Wherever there's somebody fightin' for a place to stand
Or decent job or a helpin' hand
Wherever somebody's strugglin' to be free
Look in their eyes Mom you'll see me."
Well the highway is alive tonight
But nobody's kiddin' nobody about where it goes
I'm sittin down here in the campfire light
With the ghost of old Tom Joad
- Bruce Springsteen/Rage Against The Machine
This message has been edited by contracycle, 07-22-2004 08:47 AM
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