Animal Farm

Recession-depression,
is common as muck.
It’s hard to find smiles,
when you don’t give a fuck.

But we put up a front,
a façade, just to show,
that we’ve found a direction
and want you to know.

The truth of course differs,
as some understand;
when you’re lost in the desert,
there’s nothing but sand!

There’s prophets and healers,
they fall from the trees,
all seeking redemption
and begging us please;

‘We have all the answers,
it’s simple’ they whine,
while deftly extracting
the wrath from the wine.

Orwellian leaders,
dance Hornpipes and jigs -
we stand in the farmyard
and stare at the pigs.

‘For the good of the farm,
we must tighten our belts…’
and with crocodile tears,
they rub salt on our welts.

From outside the pigsty,
the pop of the cork,
puts meat on the bones
of our hunger for pork.

So listen up ‘Leaders’
[if that’s what you’d be]
we’re all done with begging
and bending the knee.

Our patience needs fodder,
it’s growing too thin;
do you not realize
how much shit you are in?

Chris Birrane © 2012