Poetry

gerard quain, 27 february 2012

Going to the desert

Going to the desert
Trying to remember his name
Pondering his gift
Was it all in vain


The three wise monkey's
Light up thier spliff's
Human's turn to lemmings
And gather at the cliffs


Going to the desert
Trying to remember his name
Pondering his gift
Was it all in vain


Economist's play a hot tune
As the blind mice dance
As the beat builds
Everyone is caught in a trance


Going to the desert
Trying to remember his name
Pondering his gift
Was it all in vain


The bankers want a pounbd of flesh
But they say, they don't want blood
Tell that to the poor
When they gentrify their neighbourhood


Going to the desert
Trying to remember his name
Pondering his gift
Was it all in vain


Lord forgive us
For our considerable shame
We know not what we do
We just play the game


Going to the desert
Trying to remember his name
Pondering his gift
Was it all in vain