Tears on the stones

There are tears on the stones,

Tears on the flags,

From Liverpool to Manchester,

There are tears in the wind.

 

Sometimes words fall to dust,

Words like petals

In the rain,

There are words made of dust.

 

There are heads missing

Tonight, heads absent

From pillows,

Their sleep never will end.

 

There are tears on the stones,

Tears on the flags,

From Liverpool to Manchester,

There are tears in the wind.

Drop a bomb for Britain

Drop a bomb for Britain,
Drop a bomb for Ma’am,
Drop a bomb for Theresa,
They don’t do any harm.

Raising pay is alien,
Raising pay is soft.
Pay people just for working!
What’s missing in your loft?

Drop a bomb for Britain,
Drop a bomb for Ma’am,
Drop a bomb for Theresa,
They don’t do any harm.

Peace is just for wussies,
Peace is for feeble types,
I would get my whip out
And give them thirty stripes.

So drop a bomb for Britain,
Drop a bomb for Ma’am,
Drop a bomb for Theresa,
They don’t do any harm.

Party political broadcast on behalf of the Conservative party

We raise the national debt

three quarters of a trillion pounds.

That’s strong and stable, strong and stable,

Strong and stable leadership.

 

We make your wages rise slower still

Than any land but Greece.

That’s strong and stable, strong and stable,

Strong and stable leadership.

 

We ride the coat tails of Donald J Trump

In any military act.

That’s strong and stable, strong and stable,

Strong and stable leadership.

 

We demonise your poor, disabled

And vulnerable.

That’s strong and stable, strong and stable,

Strong and stable leadership.

 

We protect the bankers, love the rich,

Make profit our holy creed.

That’s strong and stable, strong and stable,

Strong and stable leadership.

 

We dodge debate

Spread anti-immigrant hate.

That’s strong and stable, strong and stable,

Strong and stable leadership.

 

We steal elections,

Sneer and lie.

That’s strong and stable, strong and stable,

Strong and stable leadership.

 

 

 

 

 

Do you know what it took to make May Day?

Do you know what it took to make May Day?
It wasn’t ribbons of pink and gold, red and blue.
It wasn’t the thump of clogs
And girls in summer dresses, circling round
A pole on a manicured village green.
It wasn’t May Queens and wet dreams
About an England of melting mists
And servile peasants forelock tugging
To Little Lord Exploiteroy.

Do you know what it took to make May Day?
It took class war in a Chicago Square,
Blood and hurt and broken bones.
That’s what it took to make May Day,
It took unions and socialists,
Anarchists and class fighters.
It took pickets and lock outs
And linked arms against every gutless, whining scab
Who crawled out of the sewer of profit and drudge.

Ah, I don’t hold a grudge,
Well, stuff it I do, for the many against the few,
The woman and man with a family to feed
In the face of shabby, corporate greed.
Do you know what it took to make May Day?
It took snapping banners and marching feet
Pounding class rhythms on the police-guarded street.
It took tribunes of peace,
Opponents of discrimination and hate.

Do you know what it took to make May Day?
It took men coughing up coal dust.
It took women dragging carts
With their children crawling behind
On stone-torn knees.
It took steel-scalded skin
And sun-tortured faces.
It took labour and toil
And profits from oil.
It took bankers’ crashes and mutineer lashes.

Do you know what it took to make May Day?
It took sabres slashing down at Peterloo,
Butchering people like you.
It took men fighting for the docker’s tanner,
Resistance in the form of a well-aimed spanner
Lodged in the throat of the capitalist beast.
It took sweat. It took spit
In the factory, dock, workplace and pit.
That’s what it took to make May Day.

Do you know what it takes to make May Day today?
It takes cash-strapped hospitals and book-starved schools
It takes the drumbeat of war, the threatened tramp
Of racists’ and fascists’ boots.
It takes struggle, those green and tender shoots.
It takes resistance and guts, the defence of hard won
Women’s rights, a cry of rage and Tory shites.
It takes an election called on May the Eighth
A socialist leader, a hope reborn
So rally today for that silver dawn

Safe

It reminds you, at first sight,

Of a grey or brownish head of broccoli,

Bubbling skyward.

Well, what’s so scary about broccoli?

You may as well be scared of buttons.

I mean, buttons come in many colours,

Blue, green, yellow, black,

So why be scared of a red one?

Why fear something that looks,

Not like a broccoli head,

But a reindeer’s nose?

What damage could that do?

After all, nobody has pressed

The red button,

Released the broccoli head,

In decades

So maybe they never will.

I suppose the thing to do

Is look at the fingers

That could press the button,

Release the broccoli head,

The guy with the candyfloss hair,

The comedy fat boy

In olive fatigues,

The sub-Thatcherite wannabee

And ask yourself:

Do you feel safe?

Well, do you?