Friday, 28 March 2008

Lament for the Tara landscape 2008

A bitter rain fall on your corporate schemes
Whose gutters run rancid with extortionate greed
That drains green verdure for acrid tar lanes
The price of this slice in real terms...insane
Flushing us foully with deceptions of mind
That convince the brain with betrayal sounding kind
That jobs are to be had and progress to be made
Causing a possesion of mind to which you would be amazed
All of an accord people will do their bidding
Corporation shovels to do the digging
This top heavy robot of progress
Is crashing it's weight all around the globe
Has come to the oldest that yet we know
Come to the badlands come to Meath
Where remotest antiquity is hidden beneath
Foolhardy men, brains tied to a machine
Reason development is morally clean
To do as it will as the law permits
And if it doesn't then it will make it fit
Not hateful I but brimming with satire
At the wheels and the cogs who are up for hire
To build this road from Dublin to Kells
Turning Ireland's heaven to a rat run in hell
Feeding their families on dollars of death
Choking nature heeding no request
Of voices whose tones belong
To creatures who would rather their homes
Were not trashed for that wasteland of mechanical drones
From the motor car juggernaut cult
Forming deep grooves in the land as result
Ploughed in with money of land murdering mind
Employing architects hired...not to find
But to keep up appearances
Ah such a merry dance it is
As their real work is smothered
By the confusing cover
Of the power mighty men in the corporation macs
Luminous reminders of the complete lack
Of integrity in carrying out the work
That scars a most ancient valley with tar besmirched
But this is not a distant concern
Look around, does this world burn?
Yet truth to say as we shall learn
It presages the little people's return.

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