And he howls with rage and blood-drenched metaphors
Human rights, knife crime, poverty, Israel
The bloke really knows his stuff
And he talks tough, tonight
With the righteousness of a prophet
As he skewers yet another prevailing paradigm of received opinion
So who is to blame, political poet?
Tell us, tell us now, we all know you know it
We'll gather our pitchforks and lynch 'em
The political poet laughs, acidly.
Oh that's easy, he says.
America's to blame
Or corporate greed
Middle classes, daily mail
You know one of those will do.
As he finishes his sermon there's not a dry eye in sight
He's definitely getting laid tonight
And after soaking up applause, walks once more among the mortals
From the back a small voice shouts "So what should we do?"
The political poet sighs inwardly
And offers no advice
Collective action is for herds,
And he's all about the words
Later the political poet is at the bar with a beer
And as closing time draws near
He takes a happy, heroic swig
Who needs real analysis when your dick's this big?
His righteous fury gets girls every time
Those sweat-shop kids can wait in line
Tonight the poet is up on his luck
Will he go to the demos?
Will he fuck!
He's too cool for action
But sometimes he'll dream
Of the halcyon worlds
That might have been.