For the many

Smoke drenched skeletal cities, skies smeared with fear, streaked with grief.

Faces on the telly, hard, clenched and primed for war, wallets primed for lucre.

For the few, not the many.

Faces ready to shoot words that kill, to use words of death, destruction, fear, the psychopaths idyll.

Faces that only ever bleed sweat and epithets.

Seedy greedy souls on the halfshell, half finished, half cocked, halfway to hell, lead humans towards a new battlefield. From behind. From home.

With a grin and a song, a bribe, a joke, Variety Hall statesmanship. Cheap seats for us, cheap booze, cheap fags, cheap lives.

Ideologies R Us, Pound stretchers in a B&M ambulance.

And still we rise, the many, not the few.