From No News To Anybody 2003 special s.d.f (2011)

Trafic beat,pulsing through dog shit alleys,sprinkled with the remains of the super marques.Rendered walls, full of love in crisis.No employment. Cheap shoes on young feet, already fighting for space.Coming home with someone elses toys and blood on your T shirt.For the kids in boxes, food in boxes,housed and clothed in boxes,working or shut in,for long slow years. Chasing and cheating, dreams on the great god box. Scratch chiken scratch,lay your eggs that we may eat them. Scratch scratch, to win, or steal more from the poor,in their ignorant hopes of wanting more. Scratch the paint from those whore red italian sports cars. If there were gods, there would be floods.Strange men who sit on high,And say nothing.From so high,hard to look in the dark shadows of the depths.People sleep, wraped in your news,stale bodys stinking of sweat and piss, in a shrowl of pollution,world without end,man without brother and sister.Close to the Earth, as he lays upon it. Digging Digging deeper to hide from mortar bombs the explosions of failed words, Of the great men,which spoke of their gods which were not those of everyman. Diggind digging, To find your love buried under the rubble,gone to no gods, with no offerings, no prayers, No songs, remembered in sad sales jingles.Digging digging, Deep to make you a hole,To put your love in. And when you sleep, In the papers of your planet.Find her death was unheard. Sleep deep deep, passing feet the trafics beat.Your cheek pitted on the cold hard pavement. there is now only one more box, before eternal peace, But who promised it to you?

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