The Stained RoseThe field was silent now, the men had fought, bled and died. Even the Ravens and Crows had their fill and left the remains of the unfortunate to decay in the mood. The sun looked on impassive, bringing false warmth to the dead. In its gaze the dulled and broken tools of the dead’s former trade shined just a little, giving such vile instruments a tiny measure of beauty. A shame there was no one around to appreciate it.A slight breeze picked up, and stirred some of the wreckage littered about the field, the flapping of torn banners breaking the silence of the scene. The banners, those tattered and trampled rags still declared the identity and Heraldry of their deceased owners. In the centre amongst the carcasses of horses and their riders flapped a red and blue banner with a still recognisable Stallion rearing up in gold embroidery, now marking the open grave of its master a nobleman. To the east with its shaft buried deep in the mud and poked full of holes was a simpl
We Must Travel FarWell that’s that then,Time to escape our penEarth’s become a literal hellSo charge up the FTLSo long old TerraForgive us our errorFarewell red MarsWe’re going to the starsToo late we found a solutionTo that nasty pollutionHopefully we’ll do much betterIn the role of galactic settlerBut if we get too boldAnd New Eden goes the way of the oldAnd again we cause ecological harmThen you know what they say, “Third times the charm”
Viva the Social (Media) Revolution!Ladies and Gents this here is my brand new planIt’s guaranteed to take down the manFirst up we list all his wrongsIn a protest album full of remixed songsStep two is even betterHit him with a petition and an open letterFor step three we’ll ruin his trip to TahitiBy daubing his beach house in artistic graffitiAnd when he’s reeling like a cat in the rainWe’ll move in for the kill with a human chainAnd expose him as a man most bitterWith paint bombs and a ton of glitterAnd of course we’ll be coordinating via facebook and twitter
Qapla!there once was a Klingon called Worf, son of MoghEnlisting in Starfleet the Empire considered him rogueHe was fearlessJust like KahlessAnd judging by his quarters, chainmail and spikes were in vogue
Taking one for the teamAmerica’s most famous Labor chief is of course Jimmy HoffaA firebrand, a scrapper, a militant and a full time ScoffaHe got pally with the mobThe pension fund he did robBut the friendship eventually spoiled, and he received a final offa
The literally Cold WarTo Kronstadt, to attack alleged White GuardsWhile in the streets workers waved crude placards,They manned the garrison there, mysteriouslyWhere we used to sneer imperiouslyThere demands Workers' control, soviet powerAnd stop nicking are bloody flour!What could we do? Abandon the fortAfter losing the cities support?With it state power, given to the revolting masses?Let them win and we'd lose our conference passes!No: we would take a stronger, firmer grip,And bail out, our battered sinking ship!We marched to conquer fortress Kronstadt;Beating them as we beat the real Whitesbefore they could show the world we were hypocritical shites.We marched to conquer Fortress Kronstadt:Under their guns across the ice-clad seaTaken full advantage of their naive mercyWent Congress delegate and soldier elite;In that order too (when in retreat)Their cannon smashed the ice on which we stood;After we repeatedly spat on their attempts at brotherhood.After, when our bodies were reclaim
E.P.I.C.One of my favourite yank writers is that bloke Upton SinclairAfter making a fortune he used the money to build a communal lairHe rumbled the Meat packers JungleAnd documented the Oil barons bungleThe one thing he couldn’t do it seems, was climb the political stair
April ShowersRain drops are fallingWashing away the old thingsBirthing the new life
I don't pay attention to the newsUkraine’s in the news lately, I’m only familiar with Nestor MakhnoI’ve no idea how that’s pronounced so just assume it rhymes with snowWhich is also something I imagine Ukraine has quite a bit of?Just like those other countries that where the people’s names end in “ov”So anyway on to the Ukraine and something called MaidanI didn’t know Ukraine had a lot of fans of Iron MaidenNow apparently Russia has moved into the Ukraine east and taken overWhich surprised me, since on my map they had it all as well as MoldovaThough know I come to think of itI don’t think Germany is still splitBetween Westen und OstAnd Yugoslavia now appears lostAnd according to google maps there’s now a New Mexico hey?Why its enough to make you scratch yer head and say “Que”?
niemandeine Stadt aus Stille und SteinHäuser aus Staub und Spinnwebenniemand verursacht gerne Leidund niemand zerstört gerne Lebeneine Statistik errechnet die Todefür die letzte und nächste Partieniemand begann diese Kämpfeund niemand beendete sieüber den Wolken ist Leereunter den Wolken liegt Rauchniemand legte das Feuerder Wille zählt auch
Eternal ReturnalEchoes of the light, fade into the night.Nothing is new, so let's rendezvous - - at that invincible principle: eternal returnal.Opposed by none, they deposed the sun.Now she enters eclipse... and this is apocalypse.
'Should' Shouldn't Be TrustedYou should honour your commitments,and that shouldn't be a problem.I should have the money by Friday,and you should always wear a condom.You should listen to your mother,and you should never tell lies;and you should stand up to bullies,'cause they should pick on someone their own size.All these problems that are caused,when Should is AWOL or MIA,usually pale beside the havocthat Should causes when he arrives fashionably late.Because he travels with a medicine show:all radiant smiles and crooked teeth,and empty promises of wondrous things,so you should really suspend your disbelief...You should write back to that Nigerian Prince-you should take that golden opportunity!You should never allow your children to be vaccinated-you should rely on their natural immunity.You should open that strange attachmentto that e-mail that says: YOU REALLY SHOULD REPLY!And should bad things keep on happening to you,you should never really ask why.Instead, you should simply co
Hardenshipping SonnetThere were once two leaders of land and sea,who cared about their goals:Yet they were too obsessed to seethe disasters that will unfold.They also have yet to see into the love,deep down within their hearts:until they they met up high above,and were struck by cupids darts.Sadly the love remained hidden,because of the long stayed feud;they kept it deep down within,a world of deep seclude.It took only one to show the errors of their ways,and help bring the two much brighter happier days.
When a Black Feather Falls in the Well of LightWhite figures pass by the black light,Indifferent, they follow their routine daily flight.Black fog swallows the city white,Apathetic, they never cared about the blight.Once, they say, stars used to be bright,But it was long ago, four lifetimes, maybe five.Black is the sky now, with nothing whiteTo tell you if it's day outside, or night.White faceless shells in a city charred -They speak untruths with intentions of spite.Give them something and they'll say you are kind,But ask for a favor and they will curse you and bite.Black hearts beat in their husks of white,Pump tar through their system into their wretched minds.Wisdom gave way to corruption and might.Love and Sympathy followed her and jumped off a height.Someone says something, but is it right?On the tribune, they pour rubbish into your mind.And blackest lies are uttered by teeth most white.What a delight! Why would you fight?
The Bishop's MessageThey speak of things we don't desireCrimes committed like murder for hireDestruction created through chaos and fireNow our obsessions control the futureScared to speak truths or make emotions through humorNot accepting of characters, of shooters, abusersWhat we had is now just rumorsThe end of days through media visionForced us to divide our beliefs and decisionsRapture to the foolish who bow to religionWhere was God when you were told through confusionAfter all, we're children to the optical illusionI don't speak for the passionateMy words are as hollow as the devil's advocateNo one has the right to offer the less fortunateA reality full of abandonmentCross your fingers.
I.W.W.Industrial, along those linesWe organise, from shops to minesWhich we believe will bring on better times