Constructions

Three Red Frames

Open your eyes
before you is a script
made up of lies
look and you'll see
a thousand words
a perfect history
what could it be?
just fragments of
a disturbed plan that's
forced on to you

and you may wonder
if you're going to
accomodate
or wither and fade
again

Man lies and dream
of thornless roses
bend to suit his scull
handshakes with kings
and neckties tied
so tight to fit his mood
but then he wakes
the pen is in his hand
but there's no words
his manifesto
of ghosts walking through Europe
is no more
it's gone by the west

hence economy
and petro chemistry
makes all he can see
ambiguity

I am keen to clean the mess
blow it all away
Mr. Fawkes will rise again
this time make the day
Won't be caught red handed when
all the guardians come
to the cell in the cellar
where I'll beat the drum
Sweet sound of november
tear apart the air

one makes a villan
ten a psycopat
one makes a villan
ten a psycopat
one makes a villan
ten a psycopat
a million makes a hero
a nation makes you God
one makes a villan
ten a psycopat

So it will seem
That death only mean
Figures on a screen
That flickers on wall street
Itís unacceptable
To neglect a deathtoll
Like that