the end of the blues
grey
sort of blue
babies are dying in front of me
and you
see the cynicism in me
and you
we sing the blues
rubble are the images tumbling
across our screens as we fail
to screen it out the hue of our failure as
silent screams from soundless mouths
of ‘loved ones’ where love was bombed
and photobombed on our screens as we recall
we’ve seen it all before and we’ll see it all again
it’s as dumb as a sofa to hide behind when all
the sunshine of autumn fades for winter has come
and black and blue and me and you
in minds that are battered and bruised
babies now wrapped and shrouded white
hugged and kissed dumbfounded
as the black precipice i feel this night
will bring no sunlit upland dawn to end it all
i fear it might be at last our fall for
the babies are dead and still i cannot cry
or switch it off or dial this station away
why is this an impertinence supreme
that this nightmare it is not a dream
look ~ bloody well look at that baby dead
and scream and scream that
man is a brute and has always been like king canute
this flow of a sea of dead babies is almost obscene
cynicism has burst cynicism’s demean at
the dam of the dammed of you and me
has breached from the heart’s tsunami
that will drown us all
and you and me
our conscience flares but all too late it seems
for the babies are dead and blue and black
and i for one can see no way back
oh for fuck’s sake
for fuck’s sake
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