Cambridge Analytica

They're Cambridge Analytica
All their words so Politica
So insightful, oh so true
Who ever thought they'd be spying on you?
Oh we trust them, yes we do
With their names in iron
Etched like lions on our national consciousness
Like Lords and Ladies walking through
We know they have the privilege
But what do they know about you?

Such as these were whispering
Beneath the stockade
When they crucified Jesus, King of the Jews
They were the ones who got paid
Such as these have testified
Against youth and against old age
And if you don't measure up
To their examination box
Be sure they'll try to push you off stage

Oh they're Cambridge Analytica
Full of the fascism of Hitler
Held in place by their prestige
But take off their face and you'll see their greed
Their tongues lie, their voices are grey
Their blood is Luke-warm, like that of a snake
But not cold blooded, they would never make that mistake
They are too precise to fool -every correction they make

They're Cambridge Analytica,
Cambridge Analytica
Robots of the system never sympathetica
Machines who do no wrong
But their hair is always grey
Mind they don't catch you too
In their Spider web way
Cambridge Analytica

Jail House Blues

The jail birds of a rotten rock
Jangle their chains
In the stocks
The balls of iron round their ankles haul
Across the rain soaked
Jail house yard
And from a distant tent of blue
They spy the hill top climb
They knew
Before this incarceration time
Came like bonds to bind
Them in their prime

Then others of that certain hue
Came by them under skies of blue
Blue like their jail clothes
Blue like seas where the sailor rows
Blue as eyes you look into
Where forever dies on tomorrow's knees

A dog

And a dog followed me back
He gave chase like
A twister in the field
Between the nettles
And the Elderberry
Around the Spinney he happily played

And a dog he followed me back
And this hound he ran around
And this mutt he moved his butt
He wagged his tail
And shook his head
And a dog he followed me back

A Springer Spaniel
Louis the 16th century style
Curly locks and floppy ears
Bounding about
To my cheers
Go back home said I to him
Too far have you roamed
You'll be lost at sea

He listened not to my pleas
So I returned with him
To his Farm stead lea

And a dog, he followed me back
Across the field
Under skies of blue black
He was free

Because you said that thing to me

Because you said that thing to me
Because you did and meant it
The words that left the orbits spin
Flew off and I got dented

You see I've been off in space somewhere
Exploring darkness
Isolation, despair
And I was hit by
Your space debris
Which reminded me
Life is so fragmented

Pieces hit and bounce around
We all spit
But not all hits the ground
And Some spaceship
Ends up in lost and found
Because you said those words to me

Just little things
That make the world go around
Little words
Little sounds
But they turn great cogs underground
And water wheels
Flood with oceans pound
And enough of mud and blood
Its drowned
Out by the echoes
Of your words to me

cemetery nights

Cemetery nights
And the wild wind
The holes in the heart
Where the rain gets in
The dogs that lose their barks
Each time the song begins
On those Cemetery nights
When you're under my skin

The frozen love triangle
That they fit over the balls
Then the reds and yellows
Like ghostly eyes that roll
And you hit them with your
Bone white cue
And they knock around the table
Going this way and that
Looking for escape where they are able

And all the sockets full of lockets
With photographs for my heart
Of lovers stuffed in pockets
As deep as I can laugh
But the joke was on me of course
Because I could not draw the graph
Of each pulse beat I made in retreat
From the position at the start

These Cemetery nights
Keep rolling off my shoulder
Billiards in graveyards
Tomb stones getting older
And we're a long time dead you know
We must live for the ones we love
And never give way to
The Grim reaper's sway
When he gives us the cold shove

There are Eleven bone rattlers
And twelve gravediggers working
In shifts
And they're burying more than
For what they get paid to lift
And they're using all their cunning,
looking at you kid
But you can't give them their way
Don't ever accept their gift

When the Cemetery nights are over
And the Sun begins to jowl
Then you'll see me from over your shoulder
And the dogs they'll begin to howl
For the crows have flown in the morning
The dust is blown from the flowers somehow
And I know I'll see you tomorrow
Each day is a tomorrow until now

Last train

Its the last train out of nowhere
The last train tonight
Batthyány tér I'm a nomad
Get no sleep tonight

Rails in the midnight
Wheels running fast
Making miles
With nowhere to go
Nowhere but the past

On the last train to nowhere land
The cities of the night fly by
Their lights remind of a certain regret
A certain twinkle in somebody's eye

Their flat iron sign and rails
Everything we should do
Follow the tracks where they trail
Don't do what you feel you'd like to

The last train out of nowhere
Last chance to fight
Step on board, I'm a nomad
Get no sleep tonight

Magazine People

Magazine People
They are ruined radishes
Playful carrots in the field
Felled cabbages in baskets
Brussel Sprouts whose storks
Have lost their zeal

They are greens gone black
Chard that's gone hard
All the wet lettuces of a farmer's yard
They are onions that smell
And garlic gone rotten
And piles of peas gone soggy at the bottom
Strung out parsnips and hung up runner beans
And this is what I think of their magazine

Their world is a balderdash
Their lives are a joke
They fill up their time
With mirrors and smoke
And none of them know
What they really mean
Now this is what I think of their magazine

They are liars and cheats
And cowards and scoundrels
Sheep that bleat
Horses hooves and pigs feet
And rotten chicken dirty meat
Fouled by the fowl it comes from

They're over-salted pork
And twisted metal fork
That gets stuck their teeth
And jerks
And all the above and some underneath
I can ascribe to my general belief
That all their words are daisies under a mower
Headless ineffective
An insult to the sewer
And soon their seed dies
For it falls on fallow ground

And their crops will fail
Their birds make no sound
It will become like after
On nuclear scene
Now this is what I wish for their bloody magazine

They could make it better
But their vision is so mean
No hope for the future
Only keep doing what is clean
And sanitary and safe
And nothing worth spit
Just a puddle of martyr's blood
Has washed down their screen

And their front covers lie
About what has been
And which celebrity does what
With whom and in between
There lies nothing of substance
Nothing to glean
Just another pack of lies
With each new page that's seen

And this is what I think of their magazine