Black September

from by Graeme Mearns

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And once more we awaken
a-crawl with contrition
to the Tory-infested
hole that is Britain,

our could-have-been dreams
as redundant as dreaming.
We fingered our fear
till it came. Now it's bleeding

and Scotland the feart,
afraid of itself,
is a nation asunder,
spare parts on a shelf.

What the hell.

Willingly caught
in the murderous jaws
of the the oil-hungry mouth to the south,
we spout like a well

feeding the greed
of an inhuman breed
as we bleed for a Freidmanite creed
we could have expelled,

our futures forsaken
for Thatcher's fat henchmen -
the red and the yellow
as well as the blue ones -

in a state that berates
the poor for their poverty,
that wallows in war
and glories in royalty,

with Scotland,
whose heart beats for better than this,
left a bitter and battered
appendage of British rejects.

Well who would have thought
we'd have opted for hot
Eton rifles and stifled our hopes
with a vote such as this?

Were we really so duped
and so stupid we couldn't
imagine a nation in which
we could dare to progress?

Yet once more we awaken
a-crawl with contrition
to the Tory-infested
hole that is Britain,

torn at the seams
and unburdened of meaning.
We linger and lear
loving lameness and losing,

Scotland the feart,
a charade of itself,
a wasted, castrated
abundance of wealth.

What the hell.

Ashamed and to blame
for the age-old disgrace,
we made the UK and we kept it
in spite of ourselves,

taking the 'o' out of
'country' since 17
hundred and 7 and then some.
What the hell.

What the hell.


from Midnight Limbo, released December 10, 2015
Graeme Mearns: vocals, guitar, piano, synthesizer, bass, drums



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