Neil Young is Dead

Last Exit from Lewisham ~ Photo by P.I.

 

Here at the abattoir, we partake in the slaughter
Start from our shins and work our way up
We are all numbered heads chipped and read
Bloodied nails chipped and red
We have the eyes of a bureaucrat
We have the soul of a killer
Shuffling forward onto the scythe
To offer our pound of flesh
To these morality men
These heroes who swim
In the miasma of their own plastic gene pool
Unwilling to accept the reality
That they are falling at the last hurdle in hubris
They are liberals in favour of censorship
They are calcified, inflexible
And comforted by their belief
That those who oppose them
Will be demonised
By those who don’t oppose them