I've now grown used to traffic rushing past my door,
by Jak Black
Don't notice now exhaust fumes, and combustion engines roar.
I'm getting used to adverts that bombard my picture box,
And junk mail pouring on the mat now seems so orthodox.
Hopefuls incessantly cold calling, to persuade me that I need
To assist them propagate their bosses seeds of greed.
The rich and famous solicit societal emotions,
That our guilt, not theirs, will curb species implosions.
Animals have always preyed upon the weakness of another,
Young and old, sick tho' bold will die to feed the other.
Power man preys upon the weak, exploitation is his game.
A psychotic obligation to keep killing, in God's name?
Main stream media experts eloquently eulogise
Amoral sawdust Caesars, with their plethora of lies.
A century has passed since the ‘war to end all war',
Yet our modern plastic demi-gods outstrip all that went before.
Downtrodden souls have mobilised, and are flocking to the West,
Trusting that we'll empathise with those we dispossessed.
Our fragile world has fractured, it's split right to the core.
A trickle, now, may soon become a crushing tidal bore.
Seated on my garden bench, to while the hours away.
Lost in thoughts of yesteryear, pre exponential deep decay.
Life ebbing as I witness political disengagement from the past.
Communal common sense must halt this iconoclastic blast.
The Redeemer isn't coming, that's a load of spin.
No posthumous reward for virtue, nor punishment for sin.
Anthems define divisions, for each country's just a plot.
A plot that sits on planet Earth. The only Earth we've got.