Why do you still refuse to see,
this vast global conspiracy,
that's infiltrating lives and homes?
(A race replaced by servile drones).

Chips are down and stakes are high,
milk-shake minds are sucked bone dry.
If their fiendish schemes should fail,
they'll smoke us all - but won't inhale!

The evidence was there,
beneath our noses all the time.
We're too gullible to care,
they conceived the perfect crime....
The Great Brain Robbery.

Met my neighbour one fine morning;
spoke of planetary warming.
She looked at me and laughed;
wait and see who's laughing last.
Dread to think how deep they stoop,
dredging for new dopes to dupe.
Plots so blatant yet sublime;
fool all the people all the time.

False prophets ever lie,
of non-existent better days.
Then as judgement hour draws nigh,
they make their hasty getaways....
The Great Brain Robbery.

Leaders of united nations,
speeches preached from t.v. stations.
Truth or falsehood - no one cares,
All just want to be millionaires.

Armed with charm the slick of wit,
contort each thought - waive every writ.
Devise new means to beat the charge,
disguised 'neath urbane camouflage.

They subjugate free-will,
with intolerance and strife.
Won't be content until,
They own your money and your life....
The Great Brain Robbery.

(It's a load of old John Bull)
Cruel Britannia ruled the waves, Empire
oiled by toiling slaves. White flag stained
St.George Cross red, and blues sung for
the countless dead

God save brave Johnny Company,
stiff-upper-lipped he sipped his tea,
atop a mound of babes he'd killed,
to keep our nations coffers filled.

Think back and lie of England.
Conceal the evil we have done.
Think back and lie of England.
Fake alibis for Albion

Meanwhile back on British loam,
Irish driven from their homes.
Persecuted Welsh and Scot,
and robbed them all of all they'd got.

Bound unto the plough and yoke,
they broke the backs of honest folk.
Built a gentlemen's Jerusalem.
I'm ashamed I share my race with them!

Think back and lie of England.
Conceal the evil we have done.
Think back and lie of England.
Fake alibis for Albion

So will our future history tell,
how we've used this country well?
If you ask me, well I think not,
unless we watch these bigots rot.

In poverty the masses drown;
So raise a Dome in Greenwich town?
The Cenotaph is strewn with flowers,
yet arms-deals struck with fascist powers!

Think back and lie of England.
Conceal the evil we have done.
Think back and lie of England.
Fake alibis for Albion

One day whilst out exploring in some
far-flung foreign corner, I took respite
from my journey to admire the local fauna.
When from the twilight distance a peel of
bells and laughter, set my heart-strings
fluttering like bats through chapel rafters.
On entering a clearing I did sense
impending peril, beheld a Gypsy wench
with flashing eyes bright, sharp and feral.
She smiled at me so sweetly
(bit a lip that smacked of danger),
gave a look fit to disarm
this poor, unwitting stranger.

Her rhythm pounced upon me
it trounced me in a trice.
That charm she wove about me
gripped me tight as any vice.
(She spoke in tongues above me).
Though I cast my eyes to Christ,
you'd need the virtue of a saint
to not succumb - overcome this
Polkageist.

Arms of ivory strummed perfection
summond me toward the middle.
Pan warmed up his pipes
heard Herne a plucking at the fiddle.
She wrapped herself about me
(felt her hot breath at my ear);
Danced a horizontal polka
down the path to Hell I fear.

We're on a path to Hell I fear!

Her rhythm pounced upon me
it trounced me in a trice.
That charm she wove about me
gripped me tight as any vice.
(She spoke in tongues above me).
Though I cast my eyes to Christ,
you'd need the virtue of a saint
to not succumb - overcome this
Polkageist.

The Horny Huntress:
"A spirit sent to haunt you
taunting all your earthly days.
Satyrs vaunt
cavorting to the reel Cernunnos plays.
I head our wild procession
(every beast from man to mouse),
finds freedom in possession
Polkageist is in the house!"

Juice of fruit beyond forbidden
dripping slowly from her fingers,
she took my hand and led me
to that place where cunning lingers.

Her rhythm pounced upon me
it trounced me in a trice.
That charm she wove about me
gripped me tight as any vice.
(She spoke in tongues above me).
Though I cast my eyes to Christ,
you'd need the virtue of a saint
to not succumb - overcome this
Polkageist.

It starts as a faint purr, rippling, beckoning,
stealing the evening's baking heat.
It steps to the side, foot tapping, hop skipping.
Without formation, no sense of the beat.
And then comes the mean, heartrending echo.
Low and beguiling, starting the show.
The murmur resounding, a tightening of air.
As colours emerge, the wind starts to blow.

He's coming, he's coming, the crux of the message.
A silvery swordsman, no mercy to spare.
He'll slice and he'll sever with sparkling precision.
The weapon his fortune, the dragon - this air.

And most run for cover,
they know of his venom.
The fury with which he will mount his attack.
But those with a nerve,
and bubbling curiosity
Won't be so hasty to hide or turn back.
With a crack of his whip
the tears start cascading.
Great rivers of truth washing over the land.
In praise or in pity, in fear or forgiveness.
The thunder is slain, the demon at hand.

He's coming, he's coming, the crux of the message.
A silvery swordsman, no mercy to spare.
He'll slice and he'll sever with sparkling precision.
The weapon his fortune, the dragon - this air.

And the threatening rumble, a music soon faded,
a great composition now rendered complete.
The mottle blue heavens now
gather in whispers, to wait for the encore.
A black cloudless sheet.

[The Farm Hand's Ghost:]
"My kin and I had laboured hard
to reap the yearly harvest.
Lain weary on our gathered sheaves we
cracked a vat of ale. Poured a toast;
Began to boast of who could sup the hardest.
Slumped in drunken slumber
at the height of wild wassail....

I woke to find my brothers gone
that Autumn eve so balmy.
Yet gazed in wide-eyed terror
to the barley fields nearby.
Struck dumb I swore;
Stood before a mighty woad-duabed army.
Believed my wits deceived me
'til I heard their battle-cry."

[The Lord Of The Trees:]
"Smash the axe and sow the seed;
Don't cause the Oaken Heart to bleed!"

[The Farm Hands Ghost:]
"When he that led this heathen horde
cast-off his ivy mantle;
Cohorts raised honed halberds
flying pennants of leaf-green.
From below approached the foe;
A fierce scythe-bearing hantle.
Captains sat triumphant
upon coughing, steel machines."

[The Forces Of Progress:]
"Break the bough and strip all of it.
Fell this forest, make a profit!"

[The Farm Hands Ghost:]
"Opposing forces clashed
beneath a red sky cracked by thunder.
Entrenched beneath the hedge-row
I'd observed it quite unseen.
One side stood to save the wood:
T'other planned it's plunder,
I chose to fight for Nature's right;
Grabbed a fallen skean.

All who would one flower destroy,
must first cut down this Didycoy!

We fought until the last that day
to gain a hard-won victory,
Sucked in by the thirsty earth
I watched my life-blood ebb.
Though I died at least
I'd tried to play some part in history;
A momentary trembling
on the threads of Wyrd's web."

[The Lord Of The Trees:]
"Are there more so brave and honest;
Who would die to save my forest?"

'Free citizens of Planet Earth';
The leptons in some base equation.
Bound by swaddling-chains from birth,
unto travail and assentation.
Given what they're taught to crave;
Denied the truths they sorely need.
Shown a future new and brave;
Frog-marched towards it at fool-speed.

If there's anyone else out there,
disillusioned just like me;
It's time we tried to turn the tide,
with an overwhelming minority.
The masses are numb, their ethics awry.
Nothing's as dumb as the Vox Populi.
If there's anyone else out there,
aiming sawn-off philosophy;
Let's all unite and make things right,
with an overwhelming minority.

No seed of hope nor ray of light.
Scant succour from the blighted epoch.
Rise like Socrates and fight;
Take hate's chalice laced with hemlock.

Mankind's retrograde ascent;
We've wagered all for unseen winnings.
Evolution's youth misspent,
it's time to forge bold new-beginnings.

If there's anyone else out there,
disillusioned just like me;
It's time we tried to turn the tide,
with an overwhelming minority.
Bolt from the herd bleating like sheep.
Hang for your words; Don't perish asleep!
If there's anyone else out there,
aiming sawn-off philosophy;
Let's all unite and make things right,
with an overwhelming minority.

Insomnia taunts me, I turned on my t.v.;
Rapt in the arms of a galaxy spiral.
Heard a sea-shell hid it's secret as well.
This nexus is key to our planets survival.

One precious moment it all became clear;
Brain-cloud-haze lifted by euphoric fear.
To the unknown my mind's eye directed;
Beheld every mote in creation connected.

No more Hereafter, eugenics our master;
Sectarist lecture mere witless hubris.
Humanity's blunder was ceasing to wonder;
Why are we here; what's the meaning of this?

Virtual church without actual sages;
Souls under scrutiny, rats in glass cages.
Enigmas deciphered are no longer needed;
Lost words of warning unheard or unheeded.

We're all hooked-up to the vast karmic internet;
Each of our souls on the end of its fibre.
One sacred fact that we can't download yet;
The truth is we share the same service-provider.

One precious moment it all became clear;
Brain-cloud-haze lifted by euphoric fear.
To the unknown my mind's eye directed;
Beheld every mote in creation connected.

We're all hooked-up to the vast karmic internet;
Each of our souls on the end of its fibre.
One sacred fact that we can't download yet;
The truth is we share the same service-provider.

The atheist plays whilst the orthodox pray.
Fundamentalists freak-out as humanists scoff.
A headlong collision 'twixt science and religion;
There'll be Hell to pay
when one day God logs-off.

Unstoppable force and immovable object,
repel one another when by chance colliding.
The Brownian-Motion within this love potion,
ensures our opinions are always dividing.
I am from Mars my dear;
you hail from Venus.
A meeting star-crossed
like the Sun and the Moon.
Destined to let this cruel world
come between us.
Our last kiss eclipsed by a shadow at noon.

A rose that is built
out of music by moonlight;
petals stained ruby with nightingale blood.
Cast down in disgust
to be crushed by a cart-wheel,
because of mere trivia misunderstood.

We quest for a grail of illusive perfection,
each hoping we'll find it some glorious day.
Yet gaze with remorse at our jaded reflection,
that looks like The Picture Of Dorian Gray.

Siamese Twins who were joined at the heart.
Love's an affliction without a known remedy.
Blunt-bladed fate
deemed to cleave us apart;
Emotional surgery pays no indemnity.
Some seek release with effete anaesthesia,
others adapt to the role of sworn enemy.
You found nepenthe in cheap, sweet amnesia;
It was far easier losing my memory.

And the nightingale sang:
"Sing love's lament
with a thorn at your breast.
Impaled by her barb;
cruel and unforgiving.
A million dead poets would gladly attest;
heart-ache's a keepsake
to remind us we're living."

Siamese Twins who were joined at the heart.
Love's an affliction without a known remedy.
Blunt-bladed fate
deemed to cleave us apart;
Emotional surgery pays no indemnity.
Some seek release with effete anaesthesia,
others adapt to the role of sworn enemy.
You found nepenthe in cheap, sweet amnesia;
It was far easier losing my memory.

Have you heard the one 'bout when a most unlucky fella,
Went visiting a fair-ground for to see a fortune-teller?

She said;
"Of all the palms I've read - yours is by far the worst.
I'm duty-bound to tell you,
you've been well-and-truly cursed."

Ill-fated was my selfless quest.
Blind-faith a grave mistake.
I'd strived to do my very best,
to serve a dream quite fake.

Just one more hapless sacrifice,
spilt tears in full-flood.
Ingenuous I've paid their price.
Not all vampires suck blood!

Gazed into a crystal-ball and watched its surface crack.
When I cut the Tarot deck; Death lay there grinning back.
I've been here many times before; again the joke's on me.
I know the score, but Deja-Vu ain't what it used to be.

O well for him that lives at ease
With garnered gold in wide domain,
Nor heeds the splashing of the rain,
The crashing down of forest trees.

O well for him who ne'er hath known
The travail of the hungry years,
A father grey with grief and tears,
A mother weeping all alone.

To tread an unshared path alone,
was my lot from the start.
So seldom fleeting solace known,
by this rent, careworn heart.

Watch the stand-up tragedy;
famous for fifteen minutes.
I glimpsed my future and decree,
saw dearth of purpose in it.

Gazed into a crystal-ball and watched its surface crack.
When I cut the Tarot deck; Death lay there grinning back.
I've been here many times before; again the joke's on me.
I know the score, but Deja-Vu ain't what it used to be.

But well for him whose foot hath trod
The weary road of toil and strife,
Yet from the sorrows of his life
Builds ladders to be nearer God.

At the vanguard of a juddering caravan,
hurriedly galloping down a dirt-track.
Six furtive figures, crooked as Caliban;
Smuggling hope to the land of the claque.

Weary, hoarse-riders; irksomely blistered.
Spent from a decade a-roving the road.
Frigging a jig for our brothers and sisters;
Stark-raving-madrigals by the cartload.

Without trepidation I sing in laudation;
Vocal salute to all travelling tinkers.
Vagabond nation joined in congregation.
United free-thinkers cry from the bryony;

"Any old irony?!"

Come one, come all to our travelling circus;
Cast-off your cares for the painted parade.
Whirl down the wynd like dervish-berserkers;
If life hands us lemons; we'll make lemonade.

Maybe Jay's smashed (?), drumming up passion;
Scarring forever with each brisk tattoo
Bean's in the place so bass is in fashion,
killing us all with his amp set on 2.

Watch out for Ridley The Raucously Tiddly,
Unplugged he's no Dr. Jekyll....so Hyde!
Desperate-Dan-Ramsey; deft fingers diddle.
Watching The Match on a telly stage-side.

The cat on the fiddle, Miss Georgie Biddle;
Keeping it reeling with her fugue electric.
Stuck in the middle I'll rhyme you a riddle;
Irate and eclectic my cry from the bryony;

"Any old irony?!"

Come one, come all to our travelling circus;
Cast-off your cares for the painted parade.
Whirl down the wynd like dervish-berserkers;
If life hands us lemons; we'll make lemonade.