Wizemen

Here's a letter addressed to the head of sony,
have you regressed so even you like being fed balony?
your dead pony makes a mockery of music - a crock of phoney
these few lines'll make you wind back the clock - if only now when you switch the TV on and there's some music vids on,
see a bitchin' bikini thong and hear some putrid shit song and your pre teen daughter's shaking her two new bits along what'll you say to the parents when your kids tell their friends you did this song?
you blew it - using your position to alter the music charts, also made it harder for your older kids when they're pursuing the arts,
you need a shoe in your arse - you're in a position to help musicians excel, instead you're creating hell with only one mission: - To sell.
now when the reaper comes a calling and you're footing that one way plank.
you'll realise there's more to life than putting money in the bank.

EEL:
Dissemination
Mass misinformation
gas chamber
black glassy trap jars
it's equivalent to putting ad placards
in every backyard
my back's scarred from bearing the weight of potential ruin
don't hate the victims;
they're just pursuing
another mental's doings
who's behind the scenes of cash money
slash slander systems
propaganda provisions to starve
us of ability to plan decisions
they're wishing for more money
MORE POWER
won't stop until we all devour these boring useless wall flowers
they start with the art of grain crop rebuilding
then commence to brainwash our children
thus the fame option's killing
instilling a sell-out-crass-cash-mentality
under capitalist trees
we're numb & dumb thus succumb to clapping at apathy
the fact is WE are at the root of evil
not money
ASK!
Who made it?
me & YOU: THE PEOPLE

Fresh from the kingdom of the silver fern
where the air stays clear as the seasons turn
cliffs look across seas where the waves begin to fold
summer seems far in the winter cold
write a rhyme to pass the time in the city that shines
the southern cross marking if we stray from the line
we take the time like an old macrocarpa
and sit and wait as the shadows grow-darker

We are the boys who sit in the tower
of dark old stone which stands on the brow
of the high hill where the sky surrounds
in the land of the long white cloud

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