by Tom Simpson Guns You walk up to me I shoot you in the face You fall I say I am sorry You don't say anything I am insulted You deserved it I am unhappy Guns are hurting me Should I stop drinking? Parliament You are in the tower The people don't understand You are in the power The flag is in your hand We are on the streets The people don't understand We are rather meek This will stop the band You are in the tower Come down and smell the street Meet the angry people It's your head they want to beat Fields of Corn I run and run and run Through these fields of corn I think of all the mouths that feed On these rolling fields of corn Kernels kernels kernels On stiff shafts of cob Wrapped in leafy green Hanging from tall plants Why is it when we eat this corn It looks the same in our shit? |
||||||||||||||||||||
|
|