THE CHANCELLOR Just like other Budget days, the pantomime begins The chancellor’s red briefcase hides such misery within He holds it up and bears a smile that’s dead behind the eyes He knows the numbers represent real people with real lives But also knows that that’s the job — the subtle sleight of hand To give away enough that most don’t recognise the scam Take from the poor to feed the rich tax breaks and incentives Praised by the press, the same each year: his theft is inventive So deft is he at selling us a path to poverty That few will stop to question austerity’s validity The same old Trickle Down approach that didn’t work before The same old welfare for the rich whilst stealing from the poor The same old pull your socks up and freeloaders can fuck off While subsidizing industries and covering corporate loss And what’s another cut to those who just refuse to work? Another pound or ten reduced — it isn’t gonna hurt Think of where that money could be much better applied So what if it increases disabled suicides It may have been the income on which they may have once survived But business has demands and those demands must be supplied So watch as once again we raid upon the public purse When things are already this bad we barely notice when they’re worse Darwin economics it’s survival of the fittest And poverty will kill you when you’re governed by the richest And I don’t know What we’re doing here I don’t know When civilisation disappeared I don’t know What we’re doing here The chancellor does sleep at night next door to number ten Tucked far away from consequence he brought on by his pen His wrought iron gates are guarded by the cops he underpaid His head upon the pillow he rests tired from the day He doesn’t hear the sound of those who have got nothing left to eat Of pensioners freezing to death who can’t afford their heat Of unemployed begging for work as bosses count their profits Of those relying on welfare being told that they’re now off it He doesn’t hear the screams of those denied more social housing And if he did the dirty sod would likely find the screams arousing Instead he dreams of mansions and the parties he attends The lobbyists who tell him to increase their dividends The luxury and opulence to which he’s grown accustomed The Masters of the Universe who groomed him and who trust him To show the population what’s best for them is best for business Convince the citizens there is no other way to fix this The experts all agree that we all have to make these savings At least the experts we’ve employed; the ones that we are paying He doesn’t have to listen to the sobs of a statistic Just the price of doing business in a world so capitalistic And I don’t know What we’re doing here I don’t know When civilisation disappeared I don’t know What we’re doing here The media delights in the chancellor’s deceptions Headline grabbing sound-bites getting all of their attention Even while acknowledging that they are being played It’s like they cannot help themselves from joining the charade Repeating propaganda on every TV station Willingly participants in our manipulation Ideology being passed off as consensus With no alternative proposed the spin is just relentless Economic forecast reported as if its fact On eggshells as to how the global markets may react Disavowing culpability for what’s ancestral Lives are being ruined while they cite the cost of petrol A penny off a pint of beer; the chancellor’s a hero “Thou shalt opiate the proles”: the chancellor’s solemn credo Schools and hospitals won’t have the funds to serve our needs And they shut down all the libraries cuz it doesn’t pay to read And they lowered all the wages and they carved away the pensions But none of this is will linger in the public conversation Because we’d rather blame the Budget on the poor or immigration Than acknowledge that the Chancellor embezzled the whole nation And I don’t know What we’re doing here I don’t know When civilisation disappeared I don’t know What we’re doing here

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER WORRY I see others breeze through life in a way which seems so alien to me Unburdened by the weight of their days darkened by anxiety Never knowing what it’s like to not feel normal in a crowd Undisturbed by nagging voices planting concerns oh-so-loud It’s like a war is going on but the only soldier fighting’s me And no-one else who shares my flag can even see there is an enemy The main collateral damage is my day-to-day sanity “The price, we think, ain’t worth it”, says a grimly smiling Secretary “This war will be a long war and we cannot see an end in sight, It may well be that in your life a day won’t pass free from this fight.” Another day, another worry I’m not recovering in a hurry They say it takes time but I’m having doubts How much time before my time runs out? When I was a kid they used to say I was the serious one Always picking problems where the other kids were having fun Get these ideas in my head that I just couldn’t seem to shake But I learnt early that a smile was a thing people liked it if I faked Familiar feelings of a heart crank-speeding in my chest Constricted throat, no breath, my hands and face encased in sweat I’d look around for help but knew no help I’d ever get External weapons could make no contact with this internal threat And so I learned to cope by learning that I probably never would And that the sort of life which others had was something that I never could Yeah, I would never never know a day that would be footloose and fancy-free I would never know a day I would be free from my anxiety Another day, another worry I’m not recovering in a hurry They say it takes time but I’m having doubts How much time before my time runs out? I suppose at this point we should start talking about meds The use of chemicals to put right problems in our heads The kind you get from doctors and the kinds they cannot give The drugs that ease the pressure and restore the will to live Except I never took a thing, and I probably never will Not that I have anything against those who try to get help from a pill It’s just a code I arbitrarily imposed — maybe once there was a reason but now who the hell knows? That I wouldn’t put those poisons in my veins or up my nose Couldn’t see a reason to add addiction to my growing list of woes Some tell me I’m straightedge because I’m scared of losing grip Others tell me that I seek control and a life I can predict Me, I think it has to do with drunken people being dicks But it could be emetophobia and my fear of being sick? Most likely its my dad and all the harm I saw it do But it’s also got to do with what is false and what is true Because I could achieve synthetically the state I’m looking for But to get better authentically would mean a whole lot more Another day, another worry I’m not recovering in a hurry They say it takes time but I’m having doubts How much time before my time runs out? Did I bring it on myself or is it in genetic code? Was it the way they brought me up or did I do it on my own? Always fearing for the worst and seeing clouds in silver linings Seeing everything will fall apart with a clarity that’s blinding Thinking about those origins – the problem in another form Anxiety about anxiety: was it made or was it born? The fact is, it doesn’t matter how it came but that it’s here And I’m sick of every day filled with a litany of fear But the alternative is worse so I dig in and persevere Because although I’m terrified I’m still glad that I am still here Cuz I refuse to be held prisoner by some voices in my head And I’ll perform my prison break each day I rise up from my bed I’m not convinced I have discovered yet the key to set me free But I keep picking at the lock to escape each day’s anxiety And I feel good about my chances as the battle rages on And I will conquer every day until my last tomorrow’s come

ONLY DYING The message comes in morning mail The envelope is thin and pale A single page is all it holds But even so your blood runs cold There’s no runnin’ There’s no hidin’ There’s no delayin’ Don’t bother tryin’ And there’s no runnin’ There’s no hidin’ There’s no delayin’ There’s only dyin’ A doctor’s name and then a date The tests that will decide your fate The thing you hoped would go away Has just grown strong while you delayed God’s non-existence, though displayed You think it might be time you prayed Dear father who art in heaven And mother who art there too You died too young, and left me shaken I count the hours, till I’m with you It’s not a way to live your days One foot inside an early grave But grief has scarred and left its mark So happy days dim into dark There’s no runnin’ There’s no hidin’ There’s no delayin’ Don’t bother tryin’ And there’s no runnin’ There’s no hidin’ There’s no delayin’ There’s only dyin’ Got too good at writing eulogies Thinking about terminal disease They tell me it will all be fine Routine procedure, happens all the time But they said the same to dad and mom And moments later both were gone There’s no runnin’ There’s no hidin’ There’s no delayin’ Don’t bother tryin’ And there’s no runnin’ There’s no hidin’ There’s no delayin’ There’s only dyin’ I barely sleep, as dreams are plagued A hundred diagnoses made And when I wake I sit and shake And pray the nurse my blood to take Another night staring at the clock Another night wondering what I’ve got Dear institution founded by Nye Bevan Hallowed be thy name Thy will is being undone by conservative scum And I fear we’re all gonna die in great pain Am I terrified of finding out Or am I terrified of losing doubt The day draws near and time will tell If I’m ill or if I’m well And there’s no runnin’ There’s no hidin’ There’s no delayin’ Don’t bother tryin’ And there’s no runnin’ There’s no hidin’ There’s no delayin’ There’s only dyin’ The message came in morning mail The envelope was thin and pale I clasped it like the holy grail Results inside, end of the trail I felt my body getting frail My fingers twitched my breath was stale Will I pass or will I fail? The message came in morning mail

THE TONE OF OUR OPPRESSION It’s easy to say they’re all the same Same ideologies under a slightly different name And I remember, as a kid, thinking Bill Hicks was so deft With his “puppet on the right” and his “puppet on the left” I’m just as guilty as him as I sang “vote for change” Implying the choice is fiction when you’re choosing from a range Of options limited from pretty bad to even worse I sang democracy’s eulogy and packed it in a hearse Because it’s evident to all of us that we’re not truly represented And if voting could change anything they’d have made a law against it But while I confess we are being oppressed, I think that history’s shown When it comes to our oppression each election sets the tone Because there’s a tone to our oppression We choose the tone of our oppression What is the tone of our oppression? There is a tone to our oppression Each campaign sets parameters of what we should debate Do we pick the puppet who speaks of love or the puppet who speaks of hate? Each candidate has a worldview of what problems we all face And this worldview is instructive of where priorities will be placed For while utopia remains a goal, we’re not in utopia yet And we can’t afford idealistic gambles with our social safety net Because people actually live and die based on policy decisions We might agree they’re not perfect but don’t tell me all politicians Are all basically the same when that is blatantly untrue The lesser of two evils entails a better of the two It’s not a lot but it’s not nothing and it’s time we heed this lesson Their rhetoric sets a mandate for the tone of our oppression Chorus We choose the tone of our oppression Real lives will be affected by who is and isn’t elected

ANARCHOPHY When I was 12 I was angry and bored Found music by Green Day and Faith No More It was different than other stuff hitherto heard But the difference could not yet be put into words Skip forward a year, 1995 A new album by Green Day comes into my life I’m told “this is punk” and I dye my hair green As I fumble my way into this revivified scene Believe it or not it was on MTV That I first saw a band called Dead Kennedys Jello sang “Life Sentence” and my mind was blown On Alternative Nation these first seeds were sown I headed to Tempest and purchased a tape: Give Me Convenience or Give Me Death my catalyst of fate At first listen I wanted to take the thing back! Not as tuneful as Green Day, I thought it was crap! But the guy back at Tempest flat out said “no” Said to “give it a chance”, said “let the sound grow” And I already knew that the bastard was right I’d been humming California Uber Alles all fucking night! And the noise soon endeared the more that I’d hear Graduating from Green Day I developed an ear But the more that I listened the more questions I had: Who were Reagan and Thatcher? Were they really this bad? I caught up with the 80s in protest and rage Ignorant to the incidents on which lyrics were based Time to pick up a paper and read a few books Look deep into places I had not before looked The Cold War, The Contras, Zinn, Pilger and Chomsky My political awakening soundtracked by fast punk beats Freedom of style Freedom of thought Anarchist philosophies go from is to ought This is the world It ought not to be A better way is possible You’re not gonna stop me Caught up to the 90s, new faces same villains New modern excuses for old imperialist killings It started with Dead Kennedys, it still hasn’t ended Music and politics will forever be blended The reading went on, from Sixth Form to Uni I studied Politics alongside Philosophy I now knew the players, I wanted the theories The justification for a world so damn dreary A nightmare so sickening and getting worse yearly All while our leaders tell us we have to be cheery I wanted to see why it was nothing changed How identified problems continued to reign And as the world progressed backwards and repressed ever faster I accumulated degrees — first my bachelors then a masters Through dissertation and thesis I sought for solution A social and intellectual revolution And yes, I delighted in the irony When I secured government funding for my PhD About anarchism as the only power structure that’s legitimate A hundred thousand words and I think that I proved it But what was the use of these writings on power When locked in the basement of some old ivory tower? I’d speak at a conference, argue with academics, Who’d roll jaded eyes at my youthful polemics Less interested in life than in words and their meaning Reducing discussion to mere linguistic preening I wanted the world to be changed by ideas But it won’t ever happen if nobody hears I thought of those records that started my path And I left academia. I didn’t look back. Freedom of style Freedom of thought Anarchist philosophies go from is to ought This is the world It ought not to be A better way is possible You’re not gonna stop me Through all the years I kept all these notes Poetry and prose for found and lost hope It began as a kid in my ongoing journal Poems and lyrics to make thoughts eternal Diaries and blogs, novels and music If I don’t jot it down I’m terrified I’d lose it Embalming my thoughts: each sentence a snapshot Some moments to be shared; some moments — perhaps not But all of them part of an ongoing journey Of trying to solve all the things that concern me Political, personal, ancient or new In writing I’m trying to unlock the truth Been putting them in songs since Green Day’s “Insomniac” I put down the guitar now and then but I keep coming back Sometimes it’s punk rock, sometimes it’s hip-hop What’s clear to me now is it’s not going to stop So what is ANARCHOPHY? What does it mean? This mixture of anarchy and philosophy? To me it means freedom and an enquiring mind Poking at pulling all of the lies that bind Analysing even the most sacred cow Speaking the thoughts they try not to allow Questioning structures of authority Calling bullshit on bullshit when bullshit I see It’s a name for the thoughts I can’t not put in rhyme All those burning questions I’ve asked for a very long time It’s a 12 year old boy listening loudly to punk It’s a PhD thesis that still no-one’s debunked It’s having a voice and deciding to use it It’s demanding the impossible all set to good music Freedom of style Freedom of thought Anarchist philosophies go from is to ought This is the world It ought not to be A better way is possible You’re not gonna stop me

THE TRAP A question I want you to answer me If you can’t be yourself can you really be called free? Employment That shackled compromise To give up who we are so our bank accounts can rise I WEAR THE PLASTIC SMILE AND I PERFORM SO EASILY AND I PRETEND NORMALITY AND I CHOKE DOWN CONFORMITY AND I FEIGN THIS IS SANITY AND I INDULGE DEPRAVITY AND I STUNT MY CAPACITY AND I PLAY ALONG WITH YOUR WORLD The system To which our membership is birth And from which we can’t escape until we’re buried under earth Is to trade our greatest days for the promise of a wage And trade possibility for the comfort of a cage Where we can rage amongst the beige until we reach retirement age Exploited at every stage like Karl Marx warned on every page Of those books we never read because we had to get ahead Working hard, overtime, I can relax when I’m dead Except I can’t Because I’d no longer exist And the one life that I had was just an opportunity missed All those things I never did, all the sights I didn’t see All because I strove to be a dedicated employee First to start and last to leave Achieve each task you could conceive Sacrifice and sweat and bleed to serve my boss’s every need And for what? Why did I make this sacrifice? So I could pay all my bills on time but have no time left for my life? I WEAR THE PLASTIC SMILE AND I PERFORM SO EASILY AND I PRETEND NORMALITY AND I CHOKE DOWN CONFORMITY AND I FEIGN THIS IS SANITY AND I INDULGE DEPRAVITY AND I STUNT MY CAPACITY AND I PLAY ALONG WITH YOUR WORLD The trap Which seems to sucker us in turn Is the idea that a living is a thing you ought to earn You don’t earn what is a right, it should be yours without a fight And what we buy would still exist if all the costs were just dismissed Because the price is far too high if we must work until we die Yet to ask why, and not comply, is a sure path to suicide We took all their fictions and lived like they’re real Economists laugh with duplicitous zeal And inside our bones you know we all feel, That we’re not paid enough for the hours that they steal But that alarm Rips us from sleep again each day And too tired to complain we can’t see another way But to climb on that treadmill and to our daily grind commute Stuck in a rut, routine set, we cannot see another route And out we sell our precious days, as entrenched, the system stays But at least we’re getting paid, as we endure this masquerade And as we die a little death and feel our will begin to fade We know at least there are new toys on which to spend the cash we saved I WEAR THE PLASTIC SMILE AND I PERFORM SO EASILY AND I PRETEND NORMALITY AND I CHOKE DOWN CONFORMITY AND I FEIGN THIS IS SANITY AND I INDULGE DEPRAVITY AND I STUNT MY CAPACITY AND I PLAY ALONG WITH YOUR WORLD