I thought that if I lied
I would be able to climb higher.
But people have called me a big fat liar.
I bought my way into business
And for a time people called me
A busy genius.
I have no understanding
Of empathy or compassion.
I have no understanding
Of how to heal or help an unhealthy nation.
I cannot grasp the task in hand.
To utilise generosity
Stolen from a fractured land.
I cannot see, I cannot hear
The sun is cruel, the sun is near
My wings are red
They look so fantastic . . .
But I have wings of melting plastic.
The things I’ve done are just so drastic.
My stock is bound to fall.
The man I serve is a setting sun
The crown he seeks will be cast down.
I am a fool, I’m on the run
From nightmares in my sleep.
I weep and flee from truth with lies.
The working class, all I dispise.
One day they’ll see and then they’ll rise.
My wings are burning up.
My rockets burst apart in flames.
In years to come they’ll spit my name
As Icarus sings my song of shame
A racist in the mud.
A dud, a fool to one and all
He had so much, he had to fall.
A flunky junky boy so small.
Who needs an ounce of love.
A plastic toy with plastic dreams.
With plastic hair and plastic schemes.
With dirty bit coin fascist streams
In an oval office grab.
All faking, taking, grubby hope
All light sings yes, all rats squeak nope.
Go hang yourselves, you’ve got the rope.
For you’ll do it to yourselves.
Black colour history, with books on shelves
The phoenix rises, as plastic smells.
The husk of a man, we heard, he fell
From a rocket to the sun.
A northern Irish artist.
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