The purpose of the system is what it does,
They say,
So often it’s become a cliché,
Which is the point at which you know a saying’s true,
The point at which you know it stands the test of time,
Applied with hindsight,
Shedding history in new light,
And full beam onto full view,
Of what is happening today,
To you.
And yet, the reason for the purpose isn’t clear,
We see the system doing what it does,
Enabling our enemies, committing crime,
Setting them against us,
But we cannot guess at the idea,
The force which Power understood as reason,
Mistakenly, of course,
But which persuaded it sufficiently to act,
Commit to open season,
On destruction of our civilisation,
Breaking down our cherished nation,
Replacing it, at vast expense,
At increasing mindless speed and giant scale
With one which history shows is bound to fail.
What triggered it, what simple fact
Was catalyst?
And are we ourselves in part to blame?
In our own infantile state
Pretending Power’s never shown itself a Masochist before,
Just because the thought seems contradiction,
Do we all labour then, in false hope?
Focused on the friend/enemy distinction,
Dressed in little nappy,
Childishly happy,
Ball gag in mouth,
And round our neck a rope,
Aiding Power to make us all the victim,
Welcoming the killers from the south.
The purpose of the system’s plain to see,
And yes it has a plan to self destruct,
Why pretend that power is deluded,
It wants to blow the bridges up in phoney war,
To guarantee that there is no escape,
From murder, beating, maiming, looting, rape,
Ensuring all of us, equally,
Themselves included,
Is once and always and forever fucked.
