Song: Popular Culture
Oh I'm sick to death of spin,
And this banal, self-serving sin,
That justifies usurpation like a king.
When shove will come to push,
Weilding power without blush,
This vigilante State is so right-wing!
Pop, pop, popular history,
Grows a crop of myth and mystery,
Where legends reap the cynical flattery,
That maintains the lie:
Of who we are,
What we've become,
In whose name,
Was violence done;
Of why we're here,
And how we came.
Who's excused,
And who's to blame.
Of where we're going,
And where we're from;
And what we're doing,
To right the wrongs...
Pop, pop, popular culture.
Does it diminish or exalt ya?
Pop, pop, popular culture.
Is it Art or just sheer torture?
Pop, pop, popular culture;
Soporific by it's nature,
From mediocre to bad.
Pop, pop, popular culture,
Confers on all a bland inertia,
Embracing every fad:
Of how we look,
The way we feel;
What is image,
And what is real.
Of what to eat,
And what to wear;
How best to cheat,
Or how to care.
The puzzle of love,
The seizures of hate;
How best to survive,
The quirks of cruel fate.
The rule of the stars,
Or the lives of the great;
Hints from the famous,
To grow and create...
Pop, pop, popular culture.
What you love, and what insults ya.
Pop, pop, popular culture.
What you hate, and what co-opts ya.
Oh I'm bored to bits by cant.
And all that ritualised behaviour,
The patriotic fervour,
That is the flavour of the year.
To my cups I'll so decant,
For from high the view is clear:
The world below is idiot,
The age of farce is here!
Pop, pop, popular culture.
Selling slops of dizzy rapture.
Pop, pop, popular culture.
Nurtures minds to easy capture:
What could be wrong,
What could be right,
When a little change,
Inspires a fight,
For what we think,
Or how we live,
Should we repent,
More than we give?
Can our actions
Be so believed,
When some are censured,
And some reprieved..?
Pop, pop, popular history,
Scuttles verity in a lonely estuary,
And sinks the well of common fallacy:
That heroes never die!
Pop, pop, popular history,
Expels reality to forbidden territory,
And absurdly plays tragedy,
As a slick slapstick comedy,
To entertain the lie:
Of who we are,
What we've become,
In whose name,
Was violence done;
Of why we're here,
And how we came.
Who's excused,
And who's to blame.
Of where we're going,
And where we're from;
And what we're doing,
To right the wrongs...
Pop, pop, popular culture,
Pulls out all stops to pimp and pander.
Pop, pop, popular culture,
Dead of meaning, truth or candour.
Pop, pop, popular culture,
Where vultures feed on lies and slander.
Pop, pop, popular culture,
The carrion flesh that's propaganda!
poem by Dave SmithWhite
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.