Here is a poem I wrote, after a sleepless night of nightmares. Hopefully this will make it into a song on the next album: On the Fringe Wasteland warrior, Living on the ragged edge, Picking through the aftermath, While humanities on the ledge. They changed all the laws around us, And they built themselves into a wall, And they filled up their prisons with guys like me, Guys who dont have it all. Perhaps Im happier struggling, Then rotting in a golden cage. Perhaps Im happier fighting my life, Then dying alone of my rage. It dont matter if you live in prison, Or chained to a desk all the day, If you dont have the freedom to get up and go, Your a slave to someones dossier. So I unload my dusty equipment, Into this dusty old bar, And we set up our rusty old keyboards, And tune this rusty guitar. In walk the ragged survivors, In walk the last of the free. And they wait for a night of abandon, While I tune my bazouk on my knee. Somewhere, somes got it easy Somewhere, somes got it all, But well play you folk at the edge of the world, Till the last of the world finally falls.
Posted on: Tue, 15 Jul 2014 17:58:39 +0000
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