Unto Caesar

Written at the end of 2010

Horses and Cattle, donkeys and camels
Where do we put our dreams
when all our idols are broken?
The faces on the coin are dead.
I wish for live flowers instead.
I understand we need to be active
but when the music stops
where will we sit?
The bankers have toppled or stolen all the chairs!
I dance and dance despite all the stairs
though the music has stopped and I have no where to go.
The Guard at the Gate
That chief guard,
our officer waits upstairs
I ask you friend,
how did he get to charge a toll at the gate?
how does he pay you with your own currency
and charge me a toll after we've both been pick-pocketed?
And he demands you worship him?
While sitting on land he stole
and picking our pockets?
And you ask me to pay a toll
to enter his fathers house,
stolen from me and you.
Why won't you let me in?
I'm not the goat for the bankers sin.
And why do you guard his gates anyway?
You are not his child, he will give you nothing.
Nothing will trickle on you
unless you stand beneath his urinal
He's put his face on the coin
but it's not his coin, and neither his fathers,
it belongs to all of us.
Why do we render unto Caesar,
what never was his in the first place?

Chris, written in the Thistle Hotel in London England at the end of 2010