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For the lost art...

Motherless Children

Picby Marc Lionhart20 May 2018

Sang Richie third or fourth in 1969, bellowing at the herds of poor folk singers falling into a chorus line
Leading in time while stalling in rhyme, without faction, fields of fractured minds, they never saw their ultimate demise
The clock strikes, loud
The ad hoc flock looks meta-proud
Idealise the combat against the wise, thick , negative paste and the nobility of truespeak ahead of the social whirlwind
Like like like for the fight fight fight that Cancer might might might fade away
We are in the Nomi-Nation
Get your ice bucket ready and wait, stamp your cheque book with DONATE
Too late, you're in over your head, cold water rushes down your spine as you flail into your bed
Does charity hurt? Nevermind
We stand rooted for freedom, but we are muted just as fast, until we have no idea what we need from the wounded from the hydrogen blast
Where we went into hiding from the consumers and their buying, alone with a guitar we sat making rhythm from the pat pat pat politicians give themselves to their backs
Back, came the money sack
Death hung on a policy rack
The banks have been hacked by motherless men
And women paint with a distinctive blend
Of secretions of intellect, of which this world they disect
Yes, jesus wept, for the lost art he slept
While no longer were the tears so hidden
Alike Richie and his motherless children.