Sing

This advice is outdated,
This news is overrated.
Sanctuary getting crowded.
Eviction on the way.

So here's one small commentary,
As all the zealots become wary,
and most opinions vary
on what made things so great.

Contrast commerce with comedy,
callous comments, and vanity,
in all that sound is supposed to be,
in everything you sing.

I guess it's no new story
that things tend to become boring,
fresh ideas soon failing,
in everything you sring.

So it's best not to comment
on objects and content,
because that shit's for beginners,
as tested in the teens.

Just a nod toward what it's seeming,
here's my gentle tug at meaning,
launched by calculators
and other machines.

You see, it's all based on that promise
to restore life to the infants,
and to score strife for the restless.
But I don't like to sound that way,

because I fight with dust, daily,
a rite with rust, not risky.
Chipped-orange, camouflaged victory,
you can't take that away.

So stock up on Aspirin and alibis.
And don't forget some clothes to die in;
it better look right when we're all crying.

But even in the confines
of cherished daily routines,
between history and down-time,
I still want to play.

So I left some cash out on the table.
Hope you can use it if you're able,
until things become more stable.
Meanwhile, I'll be on my way.

If Crass called the Clash, "the Cash",
then my stash would make them laugh,
because even real injustice
just makes me want to sing.

You see, I fight with dust daily...