baby the rains have come.
maybe it feels like
they'll never go.
I've been wearing the dark boots of time,
wading through rising waters,
rising like they'll never go.
welcome to a land where black water
falls
welcome to a land
where no one knows
how it rains: how they will fall.
they're all wet.
yet no ones complaining.
they're all wet.
yet outside they're all remaining.
like some dead fungus growing in the dark.
like the same gritted put upons living
in the park.
while the giants think they're giants.
while the giants think they are gaining.
while the giants believe they're better than human flesh.
steadily nibbling on the remnants that are remaining.
we've been robbed out from the middle,
soon there'll no more meat for them to thresh,
no more bones to gnaw and pick.
wake up.
stumble to your feet.
rise up from the rain
like a flood of revolution.
rise up or feel the prick,
of being erased by an uncaring pen
in some bastard's boardroom,
or by some congress of
gall-filled, uncaring men.
rise up
create our own waters
better, make it quicken again.
they are goose step marching,
making it rain
blood thick,
making it wash
the marrow of our lives away.
make them
feel their sorrowful rain
feel their borrowed pain
of living without
of living in fetid doubt
knock the
knock the
knock the giants
out.
This is about becoming part of a humanity that won't allow itself to be put upon anymore.
Well, at least beoming the part whose humanity that hasn't been swallowed up by glad-handing,
greed and cronyism.
