"Bombs Over Utopia"
Bombs Over Utopia
Let’s see…
Where do I start?
To tell the truth I had a vision…
But this sudden indecision sickens my precision
Not to mention…I’m less than smitten by the public’s position…
of…
battle cry this, battle cry that…we won’t give in to submission.
But listen…
They don’t drop bombs over Utopia.
So in this land of hocus pocus fluff…
We throw our fists in the air, hoping our showing’s tough
Letting our voices be heard as one is explosive…plus
Our mighty cry will open the sky, rain fire and brimstone upon those opposing us.
And we don’t worry about blowing up…
because…they don’t drop bombs over Utopia.
So after the remonstration, or demonstration…it’s back to the sheisha bar smoking stuff.
Sending our hearts out to the hopeless ones is close enough.
My rage subsides as I blow and puff
I mean…sure…their going’s rough
But I came, I saw, my feet pounded pavement, that was me showing up.
All the while they sleep on the streets in a lonely tuck…
Because their dwellings, their homes have been wholly plucked…
off the face of the planet, by a lowly, soulless, unholy schmuck.
So we take all that energy and we focus what?
Let’s get a good night’s sleep on a cozy huck-
a-back well rested carries the load while their froze and stuck
in the only place they know now…the coldest rut
.
.
.
So my position is mental transmission with the most high…
making rivers flow from both eyes.
And while I ask for their release from tyranny…I give thanks that…
they don’t drop bombs over Utopia…
Because if they did….
what would you do then?
