Screens - Smokey Bastard

Iron curtain too heavy

Drawstring taut, still not closing

Shafts of light will find entry

Illuminate the room exposing

Plans in disarray

The faithful stray

While the room decays bathe in the sun

Our dissenting ways

Soaked up like rays, brand cynics void

They’re on the make

This behemoth bends but never breaks

Print it on a T-shirt

Tune in, watch it crumble

Now we know we’re free to speak

We negate our urgency

Voices fall not on deaf ears

But on screens that keep on rolling over

Let the wolves come and get ya

Sell it back, nullify them

Carve a space for contention

Let illusions seed provide a

Platform for their cries

Or else they’ll rise

Slave escape their binds and set the fires

Light the funeral pyres

Old tropes will expire and kings retire

Let them eat cake

Feed them up 'til they can’t pull their weight

Oh what a state we’ll find ourselves in