When the end of
the world comes
there will be bastards
selling merchandise
desperate hawkers
on the side of the road
to oblivion
reaching out
in crashedcrushed suits
selling us the nooses
they make us
want to hang ourselves with
Nero would have been so proud
Not just a mad man
fiddling whilst a city burns
but a whole orchestra
a bank of mad-hatters
stock brokers smashing cymbals
generals blowing horns
politicians fiddling on giant basses
and executives twiddling with flutes
a symphony whilst they sell us off
to the highest bidder
before we’re cooked to a cinder
and when the end of the world comes
they’ll sell us the box set of DVDs
with extra features
and tell us the soundtrack is to die for
Benjamin Solah 