Children of Ignorance
the children of ignorance
with bits in their mouths,
led blindfolded to the slaughter
without a thought or a prayer.
whipped into a frenzy by lies,
wrapped with golden ribbons,
sold by street vendors in suits
with hollow faces and marble eyes.
fed the 'word of God' with shotguns,
wearing crucifix painted robes;
selling their daughters for gasoline,
and their sons to political wars.
marching to hatred and violence,
leaving the weak to suffer and fall.
in the name of patriotism and Wall Street,
led like dumb sheep to die.
and they're already dead!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
runaway daughters
sold like meat to animals
wearing Wall Street suits!
haiku by Eric Cockrell
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Howl (The Returning)
black eyed, hungry teeth,
souls drawn tight through a needle.
displaced, desolate,
lives packed on borrowed trucks.
padlocked doors, Wall Street roars,
dead soldiers coming home.
street corners, somebody's daughter,
selling shadows wrapped in dreams.
religious freaks, hangman's noose,
dark glasses see only white!
Christians and Muslims, russian roulette,
hollow threats and doomsday lies.
starving children, doors locked,
faces turned away.!
oil rigs pumping, dry humping,
the earth screams, 'it's rape'!
protesters marching, riot squads,
take away your rights.
prisons full, hard degrees,
anger has a price!
lovers meet, passion burns,
scars left by point of change.
wild eyed addicts, guns in hand,
taking what they need.
the righteous wake, it's too late,
their enemies their brothers.
mountains crumble, trees fall,
rivers full of sludge.
war cries, patriot lies,
grease the grimy wheel.
suffocate, dedicate,
dead bodies to the ground.
faceless rise, tired of lies,
too damned hungry to care.
common folk, dressed in black,
lift unspoken prayers!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Bought And Sold
feathers and Bibles,
the priests of rhetoric
masturbate in hidden rooms,
by the bodies of young boys,
the price paid without doubt.
the neon screen blares,
cancer has a new name...
dressed in pride and patriotism.
street vendors passing laws,
feed the monkies!
the truth is
it's all a lie!
they drink martinis behind smoked glass,
sell the souls of the poor
to pay the rent!
leaving black scars on the faces
of children who were never born...
in a world already bought....
bought and sold for nickels and dimes!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Without Death, Bloodshed and Suffering
Without death, bloodshed and suffering wars are never won
And only hatred and grief survives when the fighting is done
And war heroes honoured in every war street parade
By war men the memories of war not allowed for to fade
The politicians the praises of the war dead do sing
Their politicizing of war for sake of power not an honourable thing
For God, Flag and Country and National Pride
Far too many good young people in wars have died
one war leads to another war as the wise one did say
And millions for patriotism in wars with their lives do pay
For the sake of war the war men create us against they
And for the love of a flag the young and brave die in wars today
And on Rememberance Day the war men parade up and down
In a show of patriotism through the streets of the town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Sound Of War
When all the bombs are silenced
When all the dust has died
When all the planes of violence
Are stored all safe inside
When all the crumbled buildings
Just teeter on the brink
When water lies in every street
Yet none is fit to drink
When politicians preaching
Of peace and healing sores
Just fail to see they're teaching
The young to fight in wars
When rhetoric and violence
Are met with with much the same
The guns will not be silenced
The killing still remains.
When families are slaughtered
And Generals hold the sway
Sure tell our sons and daughters
That no-one wins today.
poem by Dave James
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The God Of Gasoline!
for every gallon of gasoline...
how many children killed?
how many families destroyed
by the bombs?
how many countries ravaged,
how many peoples left
to live in abject poverty?
how many of your own sons
sent to battle,
killed or maimed?
how much pollution in the air?
how many oceans defiled?
how much sea life squandered?
how many political lies told?
how much hatred spread?
how many fat cats getting fatter?
how many hours of work?
gasoline...
the god of food supplies,
transportation and jobs,
even the farm machinery...
the big trucks...
and how much of your check?
there has to be a better way!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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In The Time That It Takes To Park A Cream Coloured Car
On a autumn day in the time
that it takes to park a cream coloured car
a devastating ball of fire, of flame
detonates shattering
in Church Street, Pretoria
on the twentieth of May nineteen eighty three
causing shrapnel to fly down in the street
splintering, scattering
flying, piercing glass
from all the buildings facing the street
in a deadly shimmering rain
murdering, maiming blowing to bits
the innocent civilian men, women and children
passing by in the street
for a political cause
giving a loud hell of a bang
of a applause
as if the whole of humanity
has gone insane
leaving blood, guts, body parts
and the survivors in terrible pain.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Pepper Spray
would you pepper spray your children?
you've fouled the air they will breathe
for the rest of their lives.....
you've fouled their drinking water,
or sold away the rights.
you've cut down their forests,
driven their animal friends to extinction....
carbon, smoke filled, oil spilled,
coal dust, radiation leaked.....
you've taken away their chances for education....
taken back the aid... left them on the streets,
or worse, sent them off to fight your greed wars...
let them get strung out on dope,
sent them to prison... let them fall
between the cracks....
you taught them your morality....
but your actions have taught them hatred,
fear, prejudice, take what you can get....
you've piled up debt that you're leaving for them....
you sold their chances for employment....
you've fed them lies until...
their eyes open, they just say no,
they've had enough.....
sitting quietly in a firm and well thought
act of protest.... you pepper spray them!
why did you have children to start with?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Dead End Street
Theres a crack up in the ceiling,
And the kitchen sink is leaking.
Out of work and got no money,
A sunday joint of bread and honey.
What are we living for?
Two-roomed apartment on the second floor.
No money coming in,
The rent collectors knocking, trying to get in.
We are strictly second class,
We dont understand,
(dead end!)
Why we should be on dead end street.
(dead end!)
People are living on dead end street.
(dead end!)
Gonna die on dead end street.
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
On a cold and frosty morning,
Wipe my eyes and stop me yawning.
And my feet are nearly frozen,
Boil the tea and put some toast on.
What are we living for?
Two-roomed apartment on the second floor.
No chance to emigrate,
Im deep in debt and now its much too late.
We both want to work so hard,
We cant get the chance,
(dead end!)
People live on dead end street.
(dead end!)
People are dying on dead end street.
(dead end!)
Gonna die on dead end street.
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
(dead end!)
People live on dead end street.
(dead end!)
People are dying on dead end street.
(dead end!)
Gonna die on dead end street.
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Head to my feet (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Hows it feel? (yeah)
Hows it feel? (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voice of the Voiceless
I am the Voice of the Voiceless
Through me the dumb shall speak
Till the world's deaf ear be made to hear
The wrongs of the wordless weak.
Oh shame on the mothers of mortals
Who do not stoop to teach
The sorrow that lies in dear dumb eyes
The sorrow that has no speech.
From street, from cage, from kennel
From stable and from zoo
The wall of my tortured kin proclaims the sin
Of the mighty against the frail.
But I am my brother's keeper
And I shall fight their fight
And speak the word for beast and bird
Till the world shall set things right.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Hot Water
Tell - me something
Why do I always find it hard just to get along
Try my best - for nothing
Every little thing I do is wrong
Feel it in my brain
Driving me insane
Round and round
The same old tune
Daddys on the phone
You know youre not alone
Turn that down
And clean up your room.
Sons and daughters
(dont fall in)
In hot water
Sons and daughters
(they dont do)
What they oughta
Tell (tell) you something
Music is the key to set me free
To the beat (on the street) Im jumping
Forgetting all the things they said bout me
Here it comes again
Chugging like a train
Round and round
An impeccable groove
I know its getting late
But I wont histate
Cant slow down
Got to do what I do
Sons and daughters
(always in)
In hot water
Wasting time
Is a crime in their eyes
But Im still young
So much time to decide - what to do ...
(I dont need confirmation
For my boyhood extrapolation
Though Im not sure of my direction
I have the groove for my protection)
Here it comes again
Chugging like a train
Round and round
An impeccable groove
I know its getting late
But I wont hesitate
Cant slow down
Got to do what I do
Sons and daughters
(dont fall in)
In hot water
(when they fall by the way)
Sons and daughters
(they dont do)
What they oughta
Tell me something
Where you staying tonight
Your folks
Have waited up for you
Now theyve locked the door
And turned off the light.
song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Men In Grey Suits
There are men in grey suits who infest sand built towers,
Where they sit and they spit out their venom for hours,
Making judgments and plans which they say we must follow,
Leaving them to get fat in the shit that they wallow.
The Bishops and Priests and their dumb acolytes,
Spew out sermons and edicts and meaningless rites,
Whilst abusing the young that are left in their care,
They preach God's holy goodness in which we can share.
There are Judges, who sit, every day, upon high,
Peering down on the wicked they're placed there to try,
With their wigs and their gowns and their sashes of red,
They hide Call-Girls and Rent-Boys at home in their bed.
Politicians keep faces, at home, in a chest,
Where they change them, at leisure, to what suits them best,
Their rhetoric mixes both half-truths and lies,
With their aura of rectitude, just a disguise.
So, if your'e in a tunnel, and can't see a light,
Don't depend on these vendors of goodness and light,
They'll just take all you offer and then disappear,
Leaving you in the tunnel, and them in the clear!
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
poem by Owain Glyn
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Good-Children Street
There's a dear little home in Good-Children street -
My heart turneth fondly to-day
Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet
Make sweetest of music at play;
Where the sunshine of love illumines each face
And warms every heart in that old-fashioned place.
For dear little children go romping about
With dollies and tin tops and drums,
And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shout
Till bedtime too speedily comes!
Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet
With little folk living in Good-Children street.
See, here comes an army with guns painted red,
And swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts;
The captain rides gaily and proudly ahead
On a stick-horse that prances and snorts!
Oh, legions of soldiers you're certain to meet -
Nice make-believe soldiers - in Good-Children street.
And yonder Odette wheels her dolly about -
Poor dolly! I'm sure she is ill,
For one of her blue china eyes has dropped out
And her voice is asthmatic'ly shrill.
Then, too, I observe she is minus her feet,
Which causes much sorrow in Good-Children street.
'T is so the dear children go romping about
With dollies and banners and drums,
And I venture to say they are sadly put out
When an end to their jubilee comes:
Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet
With little folk living in Good-Children street!
But when falleth night over river and town,
Those little folk vanish from sight,
And an angel all white from the sky cometh down
And guardeth the babes through the night,
And singeth her lullabies tender and sweet
To the dear little people in Good-Children Street.
Though elsewhere the world be o'erburdened with care,
Though poverty fall to my lot,
Though toil and vexation be always my share,
What care I - they trouble me not!
This thought maketh life ever joyous and Sweet:
There's a dear little home in Good-Children street.
poem by Eugene Field
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Family of War
Every morning I awake I fall to my knees and pray.
God, please make the war in Iraq come to end.
There are too many fathers and sons come home
in pine boxes. There are too many mothers and daughters
doing the same. Leaving behind fathers and sons mothers
and daughter with a last memory of them waving goodbye.
There is too much blood and tears of fathers and sons mothers
and daughters being shed all in the name of peace.
God please let our leaders see how many families are dying
and that war can never bring peace. Only love can.
This prayer is my gun and God you’re the bullet I’m shooting
to end this Family of War.
Ashes And Debt...
they dress for the slaughter,
in thousand dollar suits.
faceless and colorless,
spinning webs of deceit.
with tongues made of plastic,
bony fingers on buttons.
drunk on the rush,
worshipping neon gods.
pick your next president,
sell your job in a blink.
foreclose your grandfather,
kill your son in a war.
the american pinnacle,
with eyes steeled by drones.
they drink blood for breakfast,
and oil for dessert.
manipulating classes,
the propaganda of fear.
prejudice and patriotism,
it's all over quick!
leaving your children's children,
ashes and debt...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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On The Street
On the street
On the street
O, O, On the street
On the street
O, O, On the street
[Everybody dance]
[Watch for the difference]
On the street
{Breaking on broadway]
O, O, On the street
[Shaking on sunset strip]
On the street
[Like nobody booming supporting that]
Da, da, da, da, da ...
On the street
On the street
Dancing
On the street
On the street
Dancing
Dancing
On the street
On the street
[Twisting on the turnpipe]
Dancing
On the street
On the street
On the street ...
Da, da, da, da, ...
Dance on the street ...
song performed by by Madonna
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Guillotine
the guillotine stands
alone in the square,
the pinnacle of pulse....
that drains the heartbeats....
traffic heavy, horns honking,
hurrying, hurrying....
trucks and buses puffing clouds
of death into the air....
neon signs keeping score.
billboards selling the dream,
street preachers selling Jesus....
corner whores selling themselves....
in sterile rooms atop the skyscrapers,
far from the stink, far from
trash strewn in the alleyways
like tiny lives forgotten,
gum stuck to the shoes.....
they gamble with futures,
trading hungry mouths without faces;
never looking back.... vultures
in black suits and ties...
winning, winning, or losing it all.
while the homeless and the addicts
walk the streets below....
looking for something they cant remember....
light dancing on the razor-like blade.....
heads from bodies, hearts from souls......
profit from the last heartbeat!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Shall Weep Tears For Them
when your son
or daughter
lines up to enlist
join the military
to fight in foreign
wars America’s
Muslim Wars
in target countries
I will not judge
all suffering death pain
inflicted on sovereign
soil democracy invades
when their sons daughters
are killed as wars drone on
I shall weep tears for them
when your sons daughters
are killed as foreign invaders
I shall weep tears for them
I cannot judge right
I cannot judge wrong
I cannot stomach lies
politics is guilty
of invasion crimes
against humanity
Afghanistan Iraq invasions
Pakistan incursions drone attacks
Libya sorties rebel alliances
I cry for their children
I cry for your children
blood is on so many hands
as innocence is bath drowned
in aircraft carriers of steam blood
pornography elite power rapes
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Sons And Daughters
There's a place in the city they call the Archway
Where we rented three rooms for a dollar a day
and I worked semi-skilled at the capstans for years
And my wife was a good woman but the love disappeared
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
When a marriage goes down they're the loneliest ones
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
How I hope they can cope with the damage I've done
I found me a band, I went out on tour
So the kids wouldn't know I was with them no more
When they said, "Where's me dad?" She'd say, "He's a star!"
Oh if only stars knew what fools they all are.
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
When a marriage goes down they're the loneliest ones
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
How I hope they can cope with the damage I've done
I got a new contract, I got a new life
No more capstans for me and I've got a new wife
Sometimes she gets angry, says she wants a family
Then that nightmare returns like a ghost haunting me
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
When a marriage breaks up you're the loneliest ones
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
How I hope you all cope with the damage we done
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am A Wall Of Fire
I am a wall of Fire
To my children in despair
The Lord God never tires
In silence He prepares
When all your walls are broken down
And you lift your voice and cry
The wall of fire will surround
For you are the apple of my eye
For you are my sons and daughters
And I dwell within your heart
Your enemies are prepared for slaughter
And from you I shall never depart
All ye people tremble
For the Lord my God awakes
And His children shall assemble
And die for His namesakes
Arise O God and shake the earth
For every man shall see
That God shall stand, and Him alone
In glorious majesty
poem by Frank McEleny
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